Pride
by kashkow
Summary: Sometimes you can take the measure of a man by the enemies that he has...Part 7 of the 'Seven Deadly Sins' cycle.


Author's note: "Pride goeth before destruction, and an (sic) haughty spirit before a fall." Proverbs 16:18. I finally made it! You have no idea how hard this one was…it kept growing and growing and growing. Any errors are my own fault. My temporary beta- thank you very much Fidelma!-was very patient with my comma crisis and did her best to make suggestions to help the story. I cannot tell you all how honored I have been by your praise and feedback. I truly enjoyed writing this series. Additional note: Due to weird formatting issues (why is this my life?) Fidelma's stringent comma patrol may have been for naught. Some have become periods, and Lord knows what may become of the others. Rather than rebeat the horse and delay posting even longer than it has been, I have decided to post it as is. As such, any errors are my own. Pride by Ellen H.

The old Asian woman paddled the small boat toward the flatboat that was her home, moving slowly across the polluted waters of the Hong Kong bay. She had paddled this same route every day for more years than she could remember, and would do so until she could paddle no longer. She had seen many things in her life, an emperor, Japanese invaders, communists, the British, and finally communism again. She figured if she lived long enough there would be an emperor again.

Darkness had fallen as she had finished her shopping, and the lights from the hundreds of boats that made up the floating part of the city lit her way. She was almost to her small home when her progress was stopped by the bow of her boat striking something partly submerged in the water. In the polluted water of the heavily populated bay it could be anything, a floating barrel, a water soaked log, a dead dog or sea creature. She pushed forward again, and the obstruction gave way before her bow. She could barely make out a dark form in the water at first, but, as she moved forward and the form moved along the side of the boat, the light from a lantern fell across it. She nearly dropped her paddle as she realized it was a body.

She had seen many bodies in her life as well, her husband's, three of her children, strangers, but, as the floating form came even with her, she noticed that this body was different. This was no fellow boat dweller; this was a gaijin, a foreigner. She could see a portion of his white face in the light of the lantern. She could also see the hole in the forehead where none should have been. She pushed the body away with her paddle, looking about to make sure no one had seen. It would not be a good thing to be the one who found the gaijin. It was best to be uninvolved. She paddled hastily away, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure that the body was not floating after her in one of the sluggish currents. As she disappeared into the darkness, the light of the lantern fell full on the face of John Porter his eyes forever open wide in shock and horror.

Chapter 1-

Admiral Harriman Nelson smiled to himself as he listened to the two men seated on either side of him at the table in the nose of his submarine Seaview arguing a point with each other. Jules Pearson, head financial officer of the Nelson Institute of Marine Research was in full argumentative mode, and was finding an able and willing opponent in Admiral Edward Hickock, US Navy, Retired. The two men, almost contemporaries in age, but very different in experience, were focused on the same issue, but wanting to approach it from two different angles.

The topic was the dismemberment of what remained of the PritCorp assets, up to and including the personal fortune of Jason Pritchard III, the founder and chairman of the board. Pritchard had declared war of sorts on Nelson and what was his, including the Institute and more importantly to Nelson, his family, in the person of one Lee Benjamin Crane, captain of Nelson's creation, the Seaview. Several attempts had been made to breach the Institute's computer systems, both in the financial department, and in the operations department. Reinforced firewalls, and some information from an informant that had been discovered among the employees, had kept the systems secure. The security chief, with the help of a certain security-conscious captain, had used one of the moles as a disinformation source, making it difficult for the opposition to get a true sense of what was happening. Altogether Nelson had been pleased with the level of security, even though he had been ignorant of the measures taken until relatively recently.

Secure with the arrangements made, and with the competency of those watching the home fires so to speak, he had authorized a counterattack at Pritchard and his corporation, determined that the man would not have the satisfaction of thinking that Nelson would forgive or forget what had been done. He was aware that Pritchard held him in contempt for his altruistic stand on ocean preservation, as well as his opposition to Pritchard's own attempts to mine in protected waters. But a whole new antagonism had begun after Pritchard had tried to hire Lee Crane away from the Institute. Nelson had wondered, when he had taken the time to really think about Pritchard's motivation, if in fact the whole thing wasn't about that one event more than anything.

It was then that Pritchard had started this 'war'. Certainly it must have been an embarrassment to him when Nelson and the Seaview had been forced to come to the rescue of his new multibillion-dollar toy, but it had been no more so than the previous time they had met when Nelson had brought him up on charges before the World Court for mining in protected waters. Nelson had given it some thought, and had wondered if Pritchard had been envious of him, not for things however. Pritchard was every bit as able as Nelson to buy any material thing that he wanted, and if reports were true, had done so. Instead, as the information on Pritchard's life and family started to trickle in, he wondered if it was the human factor that Pritchard envied him. Those things which money could not buy: good friends, loyal employees, devoted family. If the reports were correct, Pritchard enjoyed none of those things.

He was reportedly married to a much younger woman whose days were spent shopping, going to spas, having plastic surgery, and planning parties. He had a daughter from his first marriage who reportedly was a chip off the old block, and who worked for the corporation, as a vice president in charge of the pharmaceuticals division. There was an endless list of toadies whose 'friendship' had vanished at the first sign of trouble, and several suspect employees whose loyalty was to the highest bidder. Nelson on the other hand, in addition to his fortune had been incredibly fortunate in a completely different way. He had in the course of his life made some very good friends, hired some very loyal employees, and had the blessing of family, both by blood and in spirit.

Nelson tuned in briefly to the argument between Pearson and Hickock. They were arguing about how to break the corporation's coffers in France. The French had not been as cooperative as the British and Japanese when it came to placing sanctions against the divisions in their country. Evidently the bribes had been hefty, and so far Pearson had been stalled there. Hickock had several suggestions for how to get the French involved, most of them slightly illegal but highly effective. For the ex-ONI director, that was all that mattered. Pearson on the other hand was determined to do this through the correct channels. In Nelson's opinion they were going to have to compromise slightly, but he would not sanction anything illegal.

Hickock would scoff at his morals, saying that you used the tactics of the enemy or you lost. Nelson felt that if they used the tactics of the enemy then they _were_ lost. The ends didn't justify the means as far as Nelson was concerned. It had been an ongoing argument with the two men for all the years that Lee Crane had worked for ONI, and Nelson had realized some of the things that ONI was allowing to be done to reach their goals. Crane had managed so far to do what had to be done without sinking to the level of the people that they fought against. But other agents were not above using whatever methods were available knowing it would be sanctioned by the brass.

Tuning out the arguing again, a movement at the end of the table caught Nelson's eye. He surreptitiously turned his attention there and was amused at the byplay he caught in action. At the far end of the table sat Captain Lee Crane and Commander Chip Morton, captain and executive officer of Nelson's submarine Seaview respectively. They were highly competent despite their young years, and Nelson was forever grateful for the fates that had brought them back together after being apart since their graduation from the Naval Academy. They were the best command team on any submarine, anywhere, as far as Nelson was concerned.

They had been participating in the strategy meeting with the older men, not just because of their status on the Seaview, but also because he valued their opinions. They too had become quiet as the two older men had begun arguing and he could see that Morton had taken the opportunity to write something on his yellow pad, which, as Nelson watched, he angled to the side so Crane could see what he had written. He saw Crane glance down the table and made sure that he appeared to be engrossed in the argument. Crane glanced at the tablet. Whatever Morton had written brought a smile to the solemn face and Nelson was glad to see it. There had been too little reason for smiles recently.

Crane wrote something on his own pad and turned it. Morton, who had been taking a drink out of his water glass, seemed to aspirate some at whatever he read there. Crane's smile grew. Morton wiped his lips and with a glare at Crane wrote something back. The captain's dark head shook in answer and he wrote again. This went on for several minutes until Nelson saw Crane jerk his head toward the head of the table and saw Morton nod in agreement. They turned their attention to the now waning argument, both with attentive looks on their faces. Nelson hid his smile as he too returned his attention to the two other men who had not noticed the byplay. Evidently the two had reached an accord and now looked to Nelson, who cleared his throat and straightened the files in front of him. He cleared his throat again.

"Well. I'm glad that you gentlemen worked that out." He bluffed. "I'm sure that will get us the results we want. I think that we've gone over everything now and, since it is getting late, why don't we adjourn for now. Cookie will be serving dinner and I see no reason that you two shouldn't join us before I have Sharkey fly you back to Santa Barbara. While we eat we can work out all the details and set our next meeting." He stopped as Hickock raised a hand for recognition. Nelson nodded permission.

"I know you and Lee are against it, but I really think we need to revisit the idea of you two staying on Institute grounds when you get back. You have the facilities there and the security is top notch now that the chief has his men on their toes. You two running around out there is just like waving a flag in front of Pritchard and his goons. We know he has had at least two men assassinated." Hickock referred to the one man that had been killed in Crane's presence by a sniper's bullet, a man who had information that could have led to attempted murder charges, and to the private detective that had tried to play Nelson and Pritchard against each other for information he held, the man had been killed by unknown assailants in a drive by shooting. The admiral had no illusion that Pritchard would not hesitate to use such methods on Crane or himself if his plans required it. Nelson saw Crane drop his head and stare at the table and caught the small shake of his head. He knew that Crane would not agree to it, even though he himself had no trouble staying at the Institute as he was then close to his labs.

Crane had steadfastly refused to change his life in response to the possible threat that Pritchard represented. He had allowed the security men to check his house each night, and to patrol the area when he was there, but only after a series of arguments with Nelson, Hickock, Morton, and Nelson again. Other than those concessions, he had gone about his schedule as if there was no threat. He had argued that if they allowed Pritchard's possible threat to make them live in fear then Pritchard didn't have to do anything, he had already won. Nelson understood Crane's reluctance and had in fact done little himself to change anything. He was already being driven to any outside appointments and there were men at his house at all times. He didn't like it, but he did it.

With a last glance at Crane, Nelson shook his head. "No. I think that we've both made what changes we can, and that's it. I appreciate your concern," he actually knew that Hickock was more concerned with Crane than himself, but that was a subject for another argument. "But we will do this our way." Hickock growled in frustration, but nodded. Pearson, not to be left out, put in his two cents worth.

"At least you let me reconfigure your accounts. There have been two very focused attacks on your personal funds in the last two weeks. A third attack on Captain Crane's retirement fund failed because there weren't sufficient funds to meet the draw. It seems that there had been a rather large withdrawal made in the last three months that almost cleared it out." He said that last with a look at Crane who was still staring at the table. Nelson looked also and then shook his head at Pearson. He knew where the money had gone.

Just over three months ago Crane had gone undercover, working on his own plan, to try to gain access to Pritchard's organization. He had succeeded, but Nelson was aware that it hadn't been cheap. Crane had formed an entirely new history for himself, and that took cash, even when he was building on an old cover from ONI. Nelson had thought that perhaps Hickock had helped out, but now he knew where the money had come from. He was conflicted about what he should do about it however. Lee was a proud man and had willingly used the money. Nelson knew that if he tried to give him the money back, Crane would be offended. Of course, given the particulars of Nelson's will, Crane would never have to worry about his retirement. That was something of a sore point however, and he didn't wish to bring that up right now either. Crane was aware of the bequests, as were the other men present, but he was still not really happy about it. He could of course simply replace the funds and let the chips fall where they may, but he didn't want to antagonize his young captain. They had had more than enough misunderstanding, angst, and upset in the past few months.

Pearson nodded in understanding and rose to his feet. He looked at Hickock. It was a matter of some amusement to the others that he and the financial officer had become fast friends even thought they argued almost any given point. "I don't know about you, Ned, but I can use some of that food about now. I understand that Cookie puts on quite a spread. For the money we spend on supplies he should turn out five star cuisine."

Hickock also rose and stuffed the files that were in front of him into his briefcase. "I can tell you its pretty damn good. Lots better than anything I ever got when I was a sea. Not for Harry and his crew the days of hardtack and rat stew." He joked. He glanced at Crane who had risen to his feet, as if to evaluate his mood. Finding whatever he sought he pulled a folded newspaper from his briefcase. "I thought you gentlemen might be interested in this. One of my friends in Hong Kong sent it along. He's been keeping an eye on Pritchard for me." It went with out saying that the 'friend' in Hong Kong was an operative in one agency or another, and no doubt owed Hickock a favor.

He spread out the paper on the table, and the other men moved around so that they could see what was displayed. Hickock folded the paper at the center so that only the top was displayed, showcasing the one picture that was there. In the picture a man of about Nelson's age, with graying dark hair and dressed in a tuxedo was surrounded by other men and women dressed in formal clothes. It could have been any gathering of international people. But this gathering included Jason Pritchard III, the man in the tuxedo. They could see from the caption that Pritchard had been hosting the ambassadors of various countries with consulates in Hong Kong. It was a rarified gathering, with men in their formal wear and women dripping in gems.

"Nice to see we have him on the run." Morton observed sarcastically. It wasn't exactly what he had envisioned when he visualized a man on the run from the law.

Hickock snorted, "Yes, we haven't exactly impacted his lifestyle noticeably, but I can tell you that it hasn't been for nothing. Right now he's drawing on reserves to keep up the image; the big man, with all the power. You notice that the ambassadors in the picture are of third world countries, countries with little money of their own, wanting to attract any kind of business that they can to their shores. They would have heard rumors about the problems he's having, but he would have talked them around easily, especially with a show like this." He tapped the picture.

"That'll change as he looses more and more of his funds though." Pearson said, peering over his glasses at the picture. "We're slowly gaining support in the larger countries, and if this latest gambit works in France we'll take another bite out of his capitol. Once they realize that he isn't the 'captain of industry' that he projects, they'll drop him like a hot rock."

Nelson stared down at the face of the man that had caused him so much pain, both physical and mental. He took in the false smile, the raised glass of champagne, the assured stance, and felt an upwelling of hate, which he squashed immediately. He wasn't going to play that game with Pritchard. He wasn't going to become less by allowing Pritchard to drag him down to his level. He had spent most of his life as an officer in the Navy, he had studied tactics and battles from the beginning of recorded history, he had seen the results of man's greed, and had tried to steer his life towards the positive, the peaceful. But with that training and learning he understood that there was sometimes a price to be paid for peace. Pritchard was a danger to not only Nelson and Crane. He was a loose cannon, unaffected by the morals and mores of the society in which they lived. Nelson would bring him down, but not out of revenge, not out of hate. He would do it because it was right, because there were others, not able to fight back like Nelson was, to be considered

He looked at Crane who so far had said nothing. The captain was reading the article that accompanied the picture, his face inscrutable, though Nelson noted he was gripping the coffee cup in his hand so tight that the knuckles were white. Nelson knew that Crane too had struggled with his feeling regarding Pritchard. If anyone had reason to hate Pritchard it was the younger man. He had been put in danger, kidnapped, had his life disrupted, had given up everything he valued, and almost lost his life, in a successful attempt to get the information they needed. Nelson had found himself awed at the younger man's level of loyalty and devotion, but not surprised. He had always known the type of man he had hired to captain his boat he just hadn't counted on it becoming personal.

And it _had_ become personal. Nelson almost smiled as he realized that right there was something that Pritchard would hate to know. In the course of this battle, Nelson had found in himself the ability to express the feelings that he held for the younger man, and had found those feelings reciprocated in kind. The feelings had existed long before, but they had been silent about them, in the way of men. He had never realized that the verbalization of feelings made them all the more intense, more real. But now he knew. They hadn't shared it with the world, there would be no formal adoptions or announcements, but they knew for sure, and that was enough. Even with the pain and upset, Nelson would not trade the revelations that had come for anything in the world, even peace with Pritchard. The idea of it even took any sting out of seeing Pritchard showing off in Hong Kong. But then he wasn't the only one affected, and he would give anything to reverse the effects that he saw on the face and in the eyes of Lee Crane.

The captain, never demonstrative to begin with, had become nearly unreadable in the last several weeks since he had returned from his undercover turn on the Tantalus, Pritchard's own submarine. There had been one incident where his feelings were all too evident, but since then he had retreated into a stoic silence that left not only Nelson but Morton as well, concerned. That was why he had been happy to see the interplay at the end of the table. Leave it to Chip to find a way to break through the wall, even if for only a moment. It made Nelson hope that Crane was working through in his mind whatever had been weighing on him. He watched now as Crane reached to turn the paper over, no doubt to continue reading the article. He turned his attention to the other three men who were discussing Cookie's menu, which was even better than usual since the cook had known that the two visitors were aboard. That was why he didn't see what happened next.

Morton was extolling the taste of Cookie's garlic mashed potatoes when he stopped in mid-word and took a step toward Crane. Nelson could see the concern in the XO's blue eyes and turned to see what had grabbed his attention. Crane was still standing at the table, the paper held in one hand, the fist clenched on the newsprint. Aside from the frozen posture and expressionless look on his face, Nelson immediately saw what had put the concern in Morton's eyes. The left hand, wrapped around the coffee cup had closed with such force that the cup had shattered. As Nelson too started toward him, Crane dropped the paper and the remains of the cup on the table, spun on his heel and started toward the spiral staircase.

"Lee," Nelson called after him, "Wait..." He stopped as Crane paused at the bottom of the stairs and met his eyes. There was a blazing anger in the golden depths that took Nelson aback.

"I regret that I can not join you and our guests for dinner, sir. Please excuse me." The young captain said formally, seemingly ignoring the concerned glances of his friends and the blood dripping from his left hand. Without waiting for an answer he was up the stairs and gone. Nelson, at a loss for what had caused the scene, stood staring at the empty stairway, barely seeing Morton as he went after his vanished captain. Hickock came to stand beside him and picked up the crumpled paper. Nelson looked over, trying to see what had upset Crane. His eyes first went to the article, thinking there had been something in there that had set him off, but then his eyes wandered to the picture that was there under the fold.

It was a picture of eight people at a dining table, obviously in a restaurant, toasting the camera. At the head of the table was a senator, his name escaped Nelson at the moment, but as far as he knew Crane didn't know the man, seated at the Senator's left hand was a blond woman and at his right…..Nelson felt his heart twist, and the blood rush from his face. The man seated at the right of the Senator was Enrique Ortiz, the 'Butcher' of Costa Nuestra. More importantly, at least to Nelson, he was the man that had instrumented the kidnapping of Lee Crane in Costa Nuestra. Who had faked the execution of the young captain and had pursued Crane through the jungles of that country when Crane had managed to escape. Lee had almost been killed later when Ortiz's troops had raided the village where he had taken refuge. Only swift intervention from the Seaview, in the form of two hellfire missiles, had kept the rebel village from being overrun and both Crane and Nelson killed or taken prisoner.

Hickock had seen the blood leave Nelson's face when he looked at the picture on the bottom of the paper. He grabbed Nelson's arm, concerned that the younger man might be having some sort of attack. The effect of whatever was in that photo had been explosive on Crane and seemed to be having much the same effect on Nelson. He pried the paper out of Nelson's unresisting hands and tossed it on the table. Jules Pearson moved up on the other side of Nelson as he saw Hickock reach out for his arm.

"What is it, Harry?" the finance officer asked, also looking at the picture on the paper. He too recognized the senator but could see no reason for the upset it had caused. His concern grew as Nelson allowed himself to be maneuvered into a chair by Hickock, his eyes never leaving the picture. Pearson exchanged glances with Hickock, who was starting to reach for the microphone when Nelson spoke.

"Leave it alone, Ned." The voice left no room for argument. "I'm fine it's just the memory…." He was silent again then he reached out and dragged the paper back toward him then he turned it so that the other men easily saw the picture. He tapped a finger on the photo over the face of the man sitting at the Senator's right hand.

"That is Enrique Ortiz, late of the Costa Nuestran government, fondly known by those he left alive as 'the butcher'." He said succinctly. He could see the puzzlement in Pearson's face when he looked at the man, but when he turned to Hickock, he saw understanding dawn.

"That's the bastard responsible for that thing down in Costa Nuestra! The one that made it look like Lee was dead and tried to kill you both later in the village. I hadn't seen him before. I know a few people that would like to get their hands on him." The old spymaster said with a growl. Crane had told him about what happened down in Costa Nuestra, or at least an edited version. Some digging with old contacts in the area had given him even more. He knew what it must have been like for Nelson, having to see Crane supposedly shot and unable to even retrieve the body. They had known that Pritchard was behind the plot and that Ortiz had been involved, but the man had disappeared. Of course that might have had something to do with the power shake up there in Costa Nuestra, even if he had stayed, he would not have survived the change of power.

Now they knew where he had gone. Evidently he was alive and well in Hong Kong, as was Pritchard, a coincidence that Hickock was not prepared to buy. He read the caption on the photo, stopping at the name given for the man at the senator's left. Rico Ortega. Hickock shook his head, amazed that with a pseudonym like that the Costa Nuestran government hadn't managed to locate and extradite him back to South America. It seemed their government wasn't up to speed. Well all the better for them in the end. Now when they took down Pritchard they could get Ortiz/Ortega too. Hickock had a few things he'd like to say to the man.

Pearson angled the photo so that he could see it better, not really understanding what was going on, though he knew something had happened in Costa Nuestra, something that had made Harry very upset. He had mentioned to Nelson that the Costa Nuestran government, the new one, had requested a return visit by the Seaview to continue the work Nelson had been doing previously. This time the government, now run by a man who understood the value of keeping the fisheries running, would actually listen to the suggestions. Nelson had paled, and had told Pearson to refuse the contract, telling him to say the submarine and Nelson was booked for the foreseeable future. He read the caption, stopping on the last name with a frown. That couldn't be a coincidence. He tapped the photo himself, on the face of the blond woman sitting to the left of the senator.

"Is this Lucinda Pritchard related to our Pritchard?" he asked. Hickock, just slightly ahead of Nelson grabbed the paper and read the caption again himself. He gave it to Nelson who did the same, studying the blond woman in the picture as Hickock swore.

"Well, now I know what my contact meant by there being a 'couple of interesting things" on that page. I knew he had a daughter, and yes, her name is Lucinda. The woman in the picture looks about the right age. She's a vice president with the corporation, but I had never seen her picture. It appears she's going around with Ortiz, another link between him and Pritchard. I wonder if they are sleeping together."

Pearson raised an eyebrow. "How the hell do you go from seeing them in a picture together to wondering if they're sleeping together?" he asked in disbelieving tones.

Hickock, with a look at Nelson who appeared to be staring at the picture, grinned lasciviously. "You didn't read the file I did. As far as my contacts could find out, the woman will bed anything that moves and a few things that don't, if the list of congressmen that she's done is any indication. Pritchard may have bought his way to the top of the heap, but she's found another way to get the power she wants. Trust me, if Ortiz is working for Pritchard then she's at the very least made a move and, if they are being seen in public together, then I expect that he didn't exactly beat her off with a stick." The old admiral started to pace the nose, a grin growing on his face as he processed the possibilities.

"This could be the thing we've been looking for. We've been having a hard time figuring out who's running the heavies for Pritchard. It didn't seem like something he would do personally, and his people seemed pretty smooth and practiced. You don't just put an ad in the paper and get those kind of men, you have to know people who know people. Ortiz would have the contacts. It also explains the sniper. We were looking at domestic talent, if Ortiz was involved, that means the shooter was probably out of South or Central America. We can widen the search. If we can get a line on who it was, then we can follow the money back to Ortiz and Pritchard. It will get us a murder indictment and some of these piddly little countries will have to sit up and take notice of the international warrant. They can't ignore it like they do the financial side."

Pearson nodded, "That's true. If we can add that to the rest of the charges it will definitely get the attention of the governments involved. There's a lot more pressure when it comes to a crime like murder for hire. For the financial side more often than not the powers that be just want to know how they got away with it for future reference." Silence fell over the three men. Finally Nelson moved, sliding the picture back over toward Hickock. He tapped the woman's face.

"Lee said that the woman that was there in Costa Nuestra was blond, in her forties, and very…aggressive. She was used to giving orders, but she was inexperienced in the 'business'." He stopped short of telling the other two men what Lee Crane had revealed to him at his cabin, the details about what the woman had attempted to do to him at the lab. That had been told to him in confidence and he would never break that trust.

Hickock, used to reading the subtext of what anyone might say, gave Nelson a look, but then simply nodded. "It's a possibility. We know that Pritchard set the whole thing up to get back at you, using Lee to do it. Who better to put in charge than his own daughter who would be less likely to turn on him in the event of things going wrong, like they did." He paced around the table, coming to stop in front of the windows. He stared out for several moments, plotting what avenues could be followed now that they had this new information. Then suddenly he saw Lee Crane's hand, closed around the broken cup, and Nelson's face as he watched the young captain climb the stairs and as he discovered who was in the photo.

His wife had warned him that he needed to do something about his mindset, that he needed to see beyond the logistics of a situation to the people that were involved. In this case one of those people was a young man that meant a lot to him and another man who had been, if not a friend, at least wasn't an enemy. In a life of creating enemies, that was something worthwhile. Add to that the fact that Nelson meant a lot to Lee and he owed Nelson some consideration. He turned and caught Pearson's eyes. Somehow the two men communicated a wealth of words with a look and Pearson nodded in agreement. The finance officer took a deep breath.

"Well, good. That gives us two avenues to pursue. But we can't do anything about either of them now. Why don't we go sample that food that Commander Morton was talking about? I for one could use something before the flight back. Come on, Harry, you're being a poor host." He chided. Nelson stared down at the picture for a moment longer then looked again at the stairs. He knew that Chip Morton would find Crane and would deal with the injury to his hand. Whether the captain would talk to him was another matter. Nelson trusted Morton to deal with it as best he could, and he knew that he could not sit here and wait for whatever developed. As Pearson had pointed out, he was the host and he had duties. He rose to his feet.

"By all means, Jules, we wouldn't want you wasting away. Look at Ned here, 'a lean and hungry look' if I ever saw one," he kidded in a forced jocular tone. He would play the game for now. "Definitely leads one to be suspicious of the man. We wouldn't want that for you." He led the way back toward the crash doors, hitting the switch to open them as he went by. He saw the speculative looks of the officers on duty when only the three older men emerged from the nose. He paused by the charting table.

"Captain Crane and Commander Morton are taking care of some things, Bobby," he said to O'Brien who was there with Jenks, the dive officer. "Are you covered here for now?"

"Yes, Sir. The captain and XO were on duty for A shift, and Jenks and I are on until C shift takes over. We're on course and running smooth. I don't think there will be any need to bother them with anything."

"Good, good. Let me know if you need anything. I… don't want them disturbed. Our guests and I will be in the wardroom."

"Aye, Sir." Was O'Brien's only response. His face and eyes showed no surprise at the order and Nelson found himself smiling as he recognized a certain XO's training coming to the fore. Whatever time Morton needed, that _Crane_ needed, would be available and the boat would go on smoothly about her mission. That was due to the training that his command team had insisted on. The command crew that he had come to count on in more ways than one and that he knew he could count on now to work through whatever was going on. He nodded and headed toward the aft hatch where Hickock and Pearson were waiting. Thinking of the things the two young men had overcome together, he was feeling better for some reason that he couldn't identify. He patted Pearson on the back and motioned aft with much more enthusiasm than he had shown before.

"Gentlemen, dinner awaits. Shall we?"

Chapter 2-

Commander Chip Morton grabbed a first aid kit off the bulkhead at the top of the spiral stairs. Somehow he knew that getting Crane to go to the Sickbay would be beyond even his persuasive powers. Jaime would of course have a fit, but the CMO would just have to live with it for now. Morton was not going to push Crane any further than he had to right now. He went to the door of the captain's cabin and knocked. There was no response. He knocked again and leaned close to the door.

"I'm not going away, Lee." He said in a low voice that he knew would carry into the cabin but not too far down the corridor. No need to fuel the shipboard scuttlebutt machine. It had enough material already. There was a pause and he started to wonder if Crane had gone somewhere else when a voice called from inside.

"In."

He pushed the door open and found the cabin lit only by the small lamp on the desk. There was a puddle of light around the desk but the rest of the cabin was darker. He could barely make out the long form on the bunk. He stepped closer and found he could see Crane lying on his back, his right arm thrown over his eyes and the left, the hand still sluggishly oozing blood, at his side. He went and grabbed the chair from behind the desk, rolling it to the side of the bunk. He figured he might as well be comfortable. For all the reaction from Crane he might as well have not been present. The captain had not moved since Morton had entered the room. The XO detoured into the head to wash his hands and grab a towel then sat down in the chair.

Chip opened the first aid kit and sorted out what he would need from its contents. He would have preferred a little more light, to make sure there were no fragments in the cuts, but he suspected that would not be taken well. So he prepared to do what he could with what he had. Once he was ready he put the towel under the injured hand and, turning it up, poured peroxide into the palm. He noticed a slight flinch from Crane but otherwise he might as well have been doctoring a statue. Once the peroxide finished fizzing he wiped the moisture away gently with a clean gauze and turned the hand as best he could toward the light. He couldn't see anything. He salved on some antibiotic cream, and then wrapped the hand with some more gauze, all in all, not a bad job if he said so himself. Maybe he should have considered medicine. He put the unused things back in the first aid kit and put the kit on Crane's desk. He detoured again into the head to wash his hands again and then returned to the chair. As he settled a soft voice came from the bunk.

"Thanks, Chip."

"You're welcome," he replied simply and leaned back in the chair. He rocked himself gently; comfortable in the silence as he had been for all the years that he had called this man friend. It had been something of a revelation to him when he realized that fact. Crane was the only person, man or woman, with whom he could just _be_ with, no talking necessary. He had come to value that particular trait in the last several years. It was comfortable, familiar, and he had realized that it worked the same way for Crane. In that companionable silence they sat for several minutes, then movement from the bunk made Morton look in that direction. Crane had dropped the arm and had turned his head towards Chip. The XO couldn't see his expression in the murky light, but he could see that Crane's eyes were open.

"You didn't see it, did you?" Came the cryptic question.

"See what, the picture of Pritchard?" Morton asked. He moved the chair back as Crane swung his feet off the bunk and sat on the edge. He saw the dark head shake.

"Not that one, the other one, below the fold." Crane said, followed by a sigh. "It was bad enough seeing him there at a party, hell, _hosting_ the party, with all we've been through, but to see them there too… It just made me so damn mad." Before Morton could stop him, Crane drove the side of the injured hand into the bulkhead. He heard the captain groan, and watched as he cradled the hand against his chest with his other hand, rocking slightly. He shook his head with a 'tsking' sound.

"Let that be a lesson," he said, trying to see if the bleeding had started again. He knew Crane wouldn't mention it if it had. "I thought Jaime had broken you of that habit." Crane shot him a look from under his lashes, barely seen in the darkness, then muttered something that sounded like "Only if he's in the room." Chip laughed and reached out to pull the arm away and look at the bandage in the light from the desk. As far as he could tell the bleeding was no worse. He looked up to find Crane eyeing him with a patient smile. He sat back in the chair. "What picture?" he asked.

Crane sighed and shook his head, running his uninjured hand over his face. "_He_ deals with this stuff like its nothing and I throw a tantrum. At least the crew didn't see it." He looked back at Morton, who didn't have to ask who '_he'_was. Morton knew that Crane valued Nelson's example above most. "On the bottom of the paper was a picture of a Senator in Hong Kong. He was having a dinner with some local big wigs. One of the men in the picture was Enrique Ortiz. The woman sitting to his left was the woman that was in charge down in Costa Nuestra, the blond in the short skirt. The caption said her name is Lucinda PRITCHARD." Morton could hear the emphasis on the last name.

"Damn," he muttered. Crane nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, I knew she was connected. We, Admiral Hickock and I, had a suspicion about Ortiz, he had disappeared from Costa Nuestra before the latest coup and since he had been working for Pritchard we though it likely that he had sought refuge with him. But to see them there, in print. To _know_ that Ortiz, he's going by 'Ortega' now evidently, is working with Pritchard…well, you saw how I felt. You'd think that by now I would have gotten a grip on it."

"Gotten a grip on what, Lee?" Morton asked. He agreed that hating someone didn't do you much good, but it was human nature to dislike someone who had hurt you and those you loved. Pritchard, and his family it seemed, had done just that to Lee. "You're trying too hard to be perfect. Only a saint would forgive Pritchard for everything that he's done, or had done. You got mad. Welcome to the human race, buddy." He saw from Crane's posture that his argument hadn't made much of an impact. He sat forward in the chair.

"Do you honestly think that the admiral or anyone else here expects you to not hate Pritchard and the rest?" he asked. "Or that he or I would think less of you because you display that hate? Do you think that we would rather that you retreat into yourself like you have the last month? That you treat us all like strangers, that you make yourself sick trying to do something that is so against human nature?" Was this the reason that Crane had been so…blank for the last month? Was it not an absence of feeling but a hiding of too many that had been causing the withdrawal that had concerned them all? He waited for the answer.

"Is that how you've seen it? That I've been treating you like a stranger?" Crane asked. At Morton's nod he shook his head and dropped his chin to his chest. "I didn't mean it to be that way. I just didn't want you all to have to deal with my… temper tantrums. My choices have made it difficult enough for you. Guess that didn't work, did it?" He stood up and started to pace the small cabin. Morton sat back in the chair, prepared to stay as long as it took.

"This whole thing is just getting to me. No matter what we do, Pritchard just keeps going, keeps doing what he's been doing, keeps being a threat. And now that we have verification that Ortiz is working for him, well that means the gloves are off. Pearson seems to believe that this is like some financial duel. But I can tell you that Ortiz is not there to raid our bank accounts. I'd be willing to bet that he's the one that arranged for the sniper. And her… She had some drug she was going to use on me. An experimental drug just like the one that they used on the admiral. I don't think it's just coincidence, do you?"

"Seems unlikely," Morton agreed, turning slightly to follow the pacing figure with his eyes. Crane paced a little more then sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Morton saw his eyes glance at the clock.

"You're missing dinner. I hear that Cookie is putting on quite the spread because of our visitors. You should go ahead and eat," Crane suggested.

"You haven't eaten since breakfast." It was an observation. Before he finished, the dark head was shaking.

"I couldn't eat. Cookie will be put out enough if I don't show up. If I go and don't eat he'll be mortally offended. We still have three weeks on this cruise, the crew will mutiny if I put him off his game." Morton couldn't help but smile at Crane's accurate reading of the cook. The man would understand if the captain didn't eat, he was used to that, but a public snubbing, in front of guests, would be unforgivable. They would be on tuna casserole and leftovers for the rest of the cruise.

"Lee, if you want to talk about it, no judgment, no limits, you know you can come to me. I'll listen to anything you want to say."

"I know. I just… Thanks, Chip. I'll think about it. Maybe later," Crane said. Morton suspected that later would never come, but it was something, and he knew that nothing more would be forthcoming right now. He rose to his feet.

"I'll bring you up a tray later. That way Cookie will be appeased for now. I expect you to pull your own weight tomorrow though." He teased gently, and was rewarded with a small smile.

"You got it. Now go on to mess. Make my excuses, will you? I don't think I made much of an impression earlier."

"Everyone understands, Lee. That's what I am trying to tell you. You didn't do anything; _feel_ anything that the rest of us wouldn't have felt in the same situation. Cut yourself some slack." He dropped a hand on the slim shoulder and got a nod from the captain. He headed for the door. "I'll see you later."

He went out the door and closed it gently behind him. He knew that Crane needed to work this out himself and, maybe once he did, he would be able to talk about it. His life had not been an easy one and his experiences had not disposed him to talk, to 'burden' anyone with his problems. He had not yet learned that his friends would not see it that way. Morton walked thoughtfully toward the wardroom and once there helped himself from the bountiful buffet. It all looked good and he stopped at the end to mention to one of the stewards that the captain would need a tray, just a light meal, and that the XO would take it himself when he was finished. He saw Nelson look in his direction and motion for him to join them. He got a cup of coffee and went toward the table where the older men sat.

As he walked, he found himself growing almost angry with the three men. All of them sitting there, eating dinner as if nothing had happened, while Lee agonized over a simple human reaction. Now that he thought about it this whole thing had started with an old man posturing over who had more, more power, more money, more ego. Lee had just become a pawn in the game. What did they call it when a player moved a pawn into position knowing it would be lost; a sacrifice pawn. It was starting to look like Lee was that pawn.

Almost as soon as the thought came he dismissed it. Evidently he was having anger issues of his own. Nelson would never endanger Lee and Hickock was the same. The two older men might fight like cats and dogs, but they had Crane in common and both held him in too much esteem to put him in danger knowingly. Though Hickock had done so in the past in the name of duty and so had Nelson if it came to that, but not this kind of danger. Even Pearson seemed to have come to admire the young captain for his knowledge about so many different things. Morton needed to focus his own feelings on the right targets. It was Pritchard and his employees who were to blame, not the men here, trying to help. He settled into a seat near the other men. He thought that Nelson gave him a strange look but he ignored it and applied himself to his dinner.

For Nelson's part he wasn't finding dinner to be very satisfying. He had been hungry earlier, but seeing the distress that the picture had caused in his captain had taken away any appetite that he had, even for Cookie's fine meal. He had made an effort however, cognizant of the man's feelings about senior officers not appreciating his meals. If Lee wasn't going to eat, then Nelson needed to make the effort. It was somewhat amusing that the cook had all the senior officers on the boat running scared.

He had participated in the conversation the other two had started, though he knew they were just talking to keep his mind off Lee. It hadn't worked well. He was concerned about the younger man. He had wanted to talk to him, had wanted to break through the wall he had erected, but he had held back. It seemed he had asked so much of the younger man recently, more through what Lee thought he expected of him than what he had actually asked. He held himself to blame for that too, though some would argue that what Lee thought was not his responsibility. He had set the bar too high by sending the submarine into places that no sane man would go and expecting his young captain to get them out, and each time that Lee had succeeded, he, Nelson, had asked for more. The older man had an uncomfortable feeling that he had taken advantage of Crane's highly developed sense of responsibility in the past and that this was the result.

He knew that Crane was driven to protect those things that he took responsibility for, even to the point of giving his own life if necessary. Nelson was determined that if a life had to be sacrificed in this war with Pritchard, it would not be _Crane's_. He didn't think it would come to that though. They had the man on the run despite how it might appear. They were continuing to attack on various fronts, and they were wary of counter attacks, moving to close the breeches in their defenses. They had hit Pritchard where it would hurt him most, in the wallet and in the ego.

He knew that part of the issue with Crane was his need to always appear in control. In part it came from a childhood during which he had none and the rest from his position. As a leader he had to remain strong and in control in front of his men. There was no allowing for the human side, the feelings that Nelson knew were there. He knew that was what the incident in the nose was about. Lee hadn't been able to control it, had let out the formidable temper that Nelson knew so well. The retreat up the stairs hadn't been due to the injury, or even that he was overcome by his feelings. That retreat was because he was ashamed of displaying those feelings in front of Hickock, Pearson, and probably worst of all in Crane's mind, Nelson and Morton.

That was one reason he had let Chip go alone to search for him. He would be more embarrassed by Nelson chasing him down than he would be with Morton doing the same. Now, as he watched Morton work his way through the chow line, stopping to speak with a steward at the end, he knew his thoughts were correct. Morton would not have appeared if it were anything more serious, no doubt having come at Crane's insistence. If there had been something else, nothing would have driven the devoted friend away. Nelson caught Morton's eye and waved him over. The XO seemed to be complying willingly, but about halfway to their table, Nelson saw something cross his face.

Usually Morton could out-stoic the sphinx, but every now and then, if you knew what to look for, you could catch a stray emotion. This one Nelson could easily identify, it was one he was becoming very familiar with, anger. The look was quickly gone. The XO sat and began his dinner as if nothing had happened, meeting Nelson's eyes blandly. Nelson felt a twisting in his stomach. This had to come to a head soon. Too many people were becoming involved. Too much damage was being done.

They had finished their meal and were sitting around talking of things in general when Lee Crane's voice came over the intercom. "Admiral Nelson, Admiral Hickock, Commander Morton, please come to the control room." The men at the table exchanged glances, then almost as one rose and headed toward the door.

Pearson, left sitting alone, was somewhat nonplussed at the quick exodus. He vaguely heard Nelson say something about waiting in his cabin, but had no idea how to get there. He hadn't quite gotten the hang of where everything was on the boat. He looked around and saw one of the stewards coming to take the abandoned trays. The steward smiled at him.

"Don't worry sir. We'll take care of you. Let me clear these off and I'll show you to the admiral's cabin." Pearson smiled back and nodded his head. He sat back to enjoy his cigar, wondering what the problem was.

Chapter 2-

Nelson led the way into the control room, to find little activity beyond that which they had seen when they had gone to dinner. O'Brien, eyes drawn aft by the movement, nodded toward the radio shack. Nelson changed course, leading the other two men. The curtain that separated the small communications area was open, and they could see Crane, wearing headphones listening intently to something. To Nelson's eye there was no sign of the earlier upset, except for the left hand wrapped in gauze. As they stopped, he looked around and took off the headphones. He looked at Sparks.

"You have it all recorded?" Sparks nodded. "Keep us posted if there is anything new. Make a couple of tapes and get ready to make some calls out."

"Aye sir." the communications tech acknowledged, and started making contact with the Institute to get a landline hook up.

Crane looked at the three men. "I think we better go up to the nose." He led the way, and they settled at the table. "We just got notification from COMSUBLANT, all satellite and radio communications in the Eastern hemisphere were scrambled for just over an hour ending at 1908 local time. Along with the communications, all satellite traffic of any kind was also lost. We lost signals from all military assets in the hemisphere and, as far as can be ascertained, everyone else did too. As you might guess the Chinese aren't too forthcoming about the extent of their blackout, but our agents there report that they were just as much in the dark as the rest."

"Do they have any indication of what caused it?" Hickock asked.

"No. There have been a couple of theories, but so far nothing fits. They are pretty sure that it wasn't natural. The blackout started and ended abruptly, no tapering in and out as you would expect from something like a solar flare. Not to mention the fact that it was confined to the eastern hemisphere. They haven't had much time to really look at it, so something else might be forthcoming. In fact that's one of the reasons they contacted us. They want you, sir," he nodded at Nelson, "to evaluate the data that they are going to send and give them a theory about what might have caused this. Sparks recorded my conversation with COMSUBLANT and has already downloaded the data they sent."

Nelson frowned, feeling the scientific curiosity rising within him. "When you say the Eastern Hemisphere, I assume you mean satellites that were in orbit over that hemisphere at that time and not satellites that were launched by Eastern hemisphere countries."

"Yes, sir. Our own assets were also affected while their satellites in the western hemisphere were unaffected. From what I understand however, information downloading from those assets to points in the East were scrambled, even when it was coming in clear in the west."

"So whatever it was, it was acting as a dampening field only there. I agree with the initial observation but I want to see what they have sent. It would be helpful to know exactly what is meant by 'lost communications'. Are we talking completely gone, or just garbled? Was the signal completely gone, or simply unreadable? That will make a big difference in what the cause might have been. The fact that radio communications were also effected suggests some sort of radiation, but as you say that is not what we would see if it had been a solar flare." Nelson rose to his feet. "Where are we at right now?"

"We're just south of our target coordinates. We can divert from here and be in the Bearing Straits in just over three hours. We should be able to make the polar transit in good time. I can notify COMSUBPAC that we're going to delay the testing until later and that we are diverting. I imagine they have already been updated about this. I'm surprised they weren't on the horn first. Admiral Starke must be gone."

"As a matter of fact he is. He had wanted to come along on this test run but had to go to Washington for a staff meeting instead."

"Never thought I would be grateful for a staff meeting." Crane mumbled half under his breath. Morton, who was sitting nearby, caught it and grinned. Whatever introspection his friend had done, seemed to have been for the better. That snarky sense of humor that he seldom shared with any but his closest friends was reasserting itself.

Nelson, several feet further away, also heard enough to guess what Crane had said and hid a smile. He knew that Starke and Crane didn't get on all that well, but they respected each other. He decided to ignore the comment, though he caught Morton's quick grin. "I think that would be best. I'll want to talk to the techs in the operations center. It'll be easier if we can all look at the same thing at one time." Crane rose to his feet, nodding. Morton also rose.

"We'll make the course change now." Crane said, and nodded to Morton who headed toward the charting table. He looked at Hickock, who was still sitting. The older man shook his head.

"Don't look at me. I wouldn't know the first thing about the science of the problem and I'd navigate you into an iceberg. That leaves me as super cargo." He looked at Nelson. "I can however get some more information for you, Harry. I have some contacts in Europe that aren't going to be on the regular checklist, maybe even a few in China. If you can hook me up to a channel or two I can start calling."

"We can still send you ashore with Jules. Just because we're diverting doesn't mean that you have to also." Nelson said. It went against his grain a little to ask anything of Hickock, but he knew that the man had contacts everywhere and they needed all the information they could get.

The older admiral shook his head. "No, if you and the captain here have no objections I'd rather tag along. Let's unload the civilians and get under the ice. This is more fun than I've had since I retired. I need to hang out with you and your boys more often, keep the blood flowing."

Nelson harrumphed, "Trust me it isn't always as exciting as it has been the last several months. Usually it's much quieter. I don't think you'd enjoy krill sampling in the Antarctic in the winter."

"Since only the whales truly care about krill, I'll give you that, but I'd like to stick around for now," Hickock said.

"All right. Lee, why don't you have the quartermaster assign him a cabin. It'll be easier for him to schmooze his contacts in comfort and privacy." Nelson said. Crane nodded, headed toward the chart table and picked up the mic there. Nelson watched for a few moments as Crane and Morton began bringing the boat around to head her for the Bering Strait and from there under the polar icecap. It was the fastest way to reach the east coast from their present position and the Seaview had made the transit several times. At least on this occasion they would not have to make any stops in the icebound area. It was the middle of winter and the Arctic was not hospitable. With a nod at Hickock he headed toward his lab where he would download the information that Sparks had for him. At least this would take their minds off Pritchard for a while.

Chapter 3-

Five hours later Nelson was no closer to solving the mystery of the communications blackout when the intercom interrupted him, much as it had earlier. "Admiral Nelson, Admiral Hickock, to the control room." He went quickly to the control room, entering through the aft hatch. He saw Hickock already in the nose, talking seriously with Crane. As Nelson walked through, he saw Crane shake his head to something that Hickock said. Crane started to turn away, but the older man grabbed his arm and said something else. Crane looked at him then glanced down the control room where he saw Nelson coming. He said something in a low voice to Hickock, which seemed to satisfy the admiral. Nelson's eyes narrowed.

He didn't want to be, but he was suspicious of what the two men were talking about. He had forgiven, though not forgotten that Lee had turned to Hickock, had confided in Hickock, when he had chosen to take the fight to Pritchard. It had been the older admiral who had aided Crane when he went undercover on the Tantalus, who had helped him hack into the computers at PritCorp. He knew that it was silly of him to be jealous of Hickock given the circumstances, but he still felt it, and he still worried that the two men would plan something behind his back, something dangerous, something that would get Lee killed. He had on several occasions mentioned that he would risk no lives in the fight against Pritchard, but he knew that the two other men, because of the nature of the job they had shared, were more proactive and they might just take steps to end this that he would regret. As much as he wanted Lee alive he also wanted him whole inside, and knew that there were things that could kill the soul as quick or quicker than the body. No matter what the result of this fight, he was going to make sure Lee came out of it alive and whole. He shook off the speculation as he came into the nose.

"Lee, what's going on?" he asked. His eyes searched the golden ones that met his, but saw nothing that gave anything away.

"It's happened again, this time in the Western hemisphere. We'd be cut off ourselves, if it weren't for your ultra low frequency system. The White House called the Institute on landlines and they used the system to contact us. The whole satellite system is down, same as what happened in the Eastern hemisphere."

Nelson frowned. Whatever was happening was very definitely not a natural phenomenon. "How long has it lasted?"

"When they contacted the Institute it had been just over thirty five minutes." Crane said. "Have you made any progress on figuring out what is causing this?"

"No. It definitely isn't of natural origin. I have eliminated all of the natural possibilities. I haven't been able to isolate the possible manmade causes, however. I've started working on that. Actually finding the agent is going to be relatively easy as there are only so many things that can do this on such a scale, however the method of delivery might be more elusive."

"I'm sure that you'll come up with something." Crane said, confident in the older man's abilities. He rolled out a map of the world on the table. He waved a hand over the western Hemisphere. "It seems as if it should be impossible to affect so much territory with one source, unless you're above it all. A satellite, or rocket, or some sort of airship even." He suggested.

"Yes." Nelson agreed, looking over the map. "I postulate that it is most likely that the source is suborbital at the least. It could be an aircraft of some sort. But that would be detectable, and since there are few suborbital craft, it would be noted by someone. I think it is more likely that the source is a satellite itself, or failing that an orbital craft. With more governments and private concerns launching things into orbit it is hard to keep track anymore of what's there and what they are for."

"So someone launches a satellite into space and flips a switch and it knocks out everything in a whole hemisphere. Seems like that would be kind of noticeable." Hickock noted. "I mean that must take a lot of power."

"Well, how much it would take depends on exactly what is happening. If it is some kind of field, actually preventing broadcasting, then yes, it would take an enormous amount of power, more than a single satellite could produce, even with a small reactor aboard, which is supposedly forbidden per international agreement. Any kind of solar array would have to be massive and that would draw attention to it, which I'm sure the creators wouldn't want. It's something of a puzzle. I'll be anxious to see what they've come up with in Washington. They should have been able to study the effects directly this time." Nelson explained.

"But will they have been able to?" Crane asked. "I mean if the satellites aren't working, will they be able to get any data?"

"Well, a good portion of the regular data gathering devices are satellite based, but there should be some things they can do without them. Measurements can be taken, observations made. We'll have something." Said Nelson. Sparks appeared at Crane's elbow.

"Sirs, we're getting a direct broadcast from the President. The interference just cleared minutes ago. The President is requesting a private line with just Admiral Nelson and Captain Crane. I've sent the signal here to the video phone." He said. Crane and Nelson shared a glance. Hickock levered himself to his feet.

"Guess I know when I'm not wanted. Was a time when the White House couldn't get enough of me. How the mighty have fallen. I'll step back here and distract Mr. Morton from his duty." He left the nose and Crane closed the crash doors behind him. He lifted the mic.

"Go ahead, Sparks."

The video screen lit and the President appeared. The man, his silver hair and dark suit immaculate despite the late hour, nodded at them. "Admiral Nelson, Captain Crane. I understand that you have already been briefed on what has been happening."

"Yes, sir." Nelson replied. As usual Crane had drifted back, leaving him as the superior officer to deal with the President.

"Have you been able to reach any conclusion regarding what we are looking at here?"

"No, sir. I have eliminated the natural causes that could bring about this effect. There is nothing that could act on this scale and still be limited as this is. It has to be man made and by design. I suspect that it is satellite based, or some other orbital platform."

The president nodded. "The same conclusion we've reached here. However we've been unable to pinpoint any satellite or platform that could do anything of this sort. You know of course that we monitor what is being shot into space by the various agencies. We've tracked anything that looks like it could be large enough to do this, but nothing has been in position. The space station seemed a likely source, but right now our boys are in residence, and I don't think that they've been building this thing from spare parts in their off time." He took a deep breath. "However, as much as we were hoping that you might have come up with something that we didn't, that is not the reason that I've called."

The camera pulled back and revealed that the President was seated at a table surrounded by several very high-ranking military officers, the joint chiefs. The President picked up a paper and looked back at the camera. "As soon as the effect of whatever that thing is had let up we received a broadcast, as did the rest of the world. It was broadcast on most television stations in several different languages. It was in text so we don't have any person or group to point a finger at. The broadcast came through the satellites, so we don't even know where it came from. The techs are trying to trace it but I'm told due to the way it was uploaded or downloaded or whatever that there wasn't enough time to really do any good. In any event it is the content of the message that has us contacting you." Crane and Nelson exchanged puzzled glances.

The President continued, waving the paper at the camera. "It's pretty much mostly threats and a ransom note. They, whoever they are, want a rather large amount of money. They expect the United Nations to call an emergency general session. Each country is to kick in what they can. If we don't reach the mark, then the blackouts continue at random and with ever increasing frequency until we pony up the cash, or in this case the gold bullion."

"If you'll forgive me, Mr. President, it sounds like the usual terrorist threat. While we are certainly prepared to do what we can to help, I fail to see why you are contacting us. You do understand that we are currently under the icecap on our way to the East coast."

"Yes, so your people told us. And that is going to be for the best. As to why we contacted you I'm getting to that. At the end of the message there is a request for us to send a liaison. They say they want someone to verify that they have the technology to pull this off, someone that everyone will believe to say that this wasn't some fluke, or not duplicatable. They want you, Nelson."

Before Nelson could say anything Crane was moving forward and speaking. "If you'll forgive me, sir, I think that would be ill advised to say the least. The admiral has one of the highest security clearances in the country. He would be of immense value to almost any hostile country. This whole thing could be a ploy to capture him and his knowledge," he said seriously.

"Lee..." Nelson started only to be cut off by the President, who seemed to be hiding a smile.

"Down, Captain." He ordered lightly, with a sparkle of humor in his eyes. "We thought about that. Believe me we would not risk an asset like Admiral Nelson if we didn't have to. However the ransom note didn't leave any wiggle room. It names him specifically, and they come right out and say that they will accept no substitute." He saw that Crane was getting ready to speak again and raised a hand. "I understand your concern, son." His eyes lost the humor and he leaned forward in his chair.

"We wouldn't do this if we had a choice. In fact I'd rather find out who's behind this and send in a Delta or SEAL team. I don't like dealing with terrorists on their terms, it sets a bad precedent, but they have us in nasty position. If we refuse to send Admiral Nelson, and the rest of the world suffers for our choice we're gonna catch some major flack. We'd be in the same boat they were, victims of the terrorists, but you can be sure that we'd be the ones to blame." He sat back in his chair and sighed. "That being said, I want to make it clear that this is not an order. I will not make it one. I am asking for a volunteer, you are free to refuse and I will back you to the wall on it."

"Is there any indication why I was chosen, sir? Perhaps that would be a clue as to who is behind this." Nelson asked. He saw that Crane had retreated again. He was too much the officer to reveal his feelings openly, but he knew the younger man was not happy.

The President shook his head. "No. The note is about as uninformative as you can get and still be a ransom note. I'll have them fax you a copy of the text or a video of the broadcast. Maybe you can see something we don't. It simply says that they want someone to verify that what they are doing is real, and they want it to be you." His eyes shifted to Crane. "By the way, Captain, don't feel left out. Your name is mentioned in the note too. They want you along to act as, and I quote, a bodyguard. It seems to be another demand more than a request." This time Nelson protested.

"Mr. President…." Again he was cut off, this time by Crane.

"If Admiral Nelson goes, I will too, Mr. President. You can count on that." The young captain declared. The flare of humor reappeared in the President's eyes.

"I knew I could, Captain. I guess it's up to you, Admiral. You feeling daring today? The lion's den awaits."

Nelson smiled and gave a small laugh. "I can only hope for the same success that Daniel had in his lion's den, Mr. President. I volunteer, of course." The President nodded.

"Thank you, Admiral, Captain. We'll have all the details for you when you arrive. We have four days before you need to be at the designated place. Maybe in that time we'll get some answers, and the whole thing will be over, and you can get back to your own work. I want to tell you men that I appreciate how you are willing to interrupt your lives for this country, not just this time, but every time we call on you. You have the appreciation of the nation, and one very grateful President. Good night, gentlemen." The videophone went dark. Nelson and Crane stood for several moments, staring at the blank screen. Then Nelson turned and moved to sit on the edge of the table. He glanced at Crane, who was looking back at him, expressionlessly. He raised an eyebrow.

"And what exactly was that all about?" He asked, knowing that Crane would understand what he meant. Crane blandly shrugged then went to start clearing the items off the table. He didn't look at Nelson and it didn't appear he was going to make any explanation. The admiral however was not prepared to let it go. "I am quite capable of taking care of myself, you know. I would rather that you remained on the Seaview. If they are able to locate these terrorists, Seaview may be needed, and you should be in command."

The dark head shook. "If you go, I go. I've already promised the President. Chip can take care of anything that comes up aboard. If you need back up, you'll need someone there, not at sea somewhere hours, maybe days, away." It was a logical argument.

"Lee. There has to be a reason that they asked for me. I have a lot of enemies, many of whom would not be averse to killing me, especially if they could do it while holding up the world for a few billion dollars. There is no need for you to go into that kind of danger. The very idea of a bodyguard in the situation is ludicrous and that says to me they are only looking for a lever to use against me."

"So you go alone and they kill you while I stay on the boat, safe? I hope you'll forgive me if I don't think that is a better plan." Crane said sarcastically. He continued before Nelson could speak. "In any event it doesn't matter. The President said that my inclusion was a demand, just like yours. Evidently they want us both. Maybe we need to stop arguing about who is going and start looking at mutual enemies who have the ability to do something like this." In the face of this logic Nelson found himself at a loss for further arguments. Determined to bring it up at a later date, he acquiesced.

"All right, Lee. The subject isn't closed yet however." He moved to sit at the table. "As I said before there are a limited number of ways that something like this could be done. The science behind it is rather complicated, and it would take a particle physicist of some experience to create the machine capable of doing it. In fact the only thing that I can think of that could do this with no obvious residual effects are ceta waves. Of course then there is the matter of getting the machine that produces them into orbit. That's another thing altogether. Rocket science jokes aside, not everyone can put a satellite or orbiter into space. There are only a limited number of countries that are capable of reliable launches. The machine wouldn't be cheap, nor would the launch."

"Can you eliminate a government, or a faction of one? You've made enemies in both Russia and the People's Republic, as well as some others. This could be the act of some country trying to get their hands on you. It would have been easy enough for whoever did this to include themselves in the blackouts and pretend that they are victims too."

"Hmmm." Nelson agreed. "It's possible, though given the fact that they are suggesting that the General Assembly meet and raise the money, it would be difficult for a government to cover their tracks. Every country that has the capability to do something like this is rich enough to be expected to put up a sizeable part of the ransom. I can't see that happening."

"It would just be like putting money in the pot during a poker game. They gamble that they are going to win in the end." Crane suggested.

Nelson shook his head. "And how do they explain the influx of money? You know that almost everyone knows what goes on with everyone else, spies from other countries and envious wannabes from within. I honestly don't see it. I think it is more likely a group that has created the machine, and have paid someone to get it into space. There's more than one country that sells launching services, including ours. Whoever did this just says that the satellite is something it isn't, pays the bills, and waits to be launched, just another communications device in a veritable constellation of the things orbiting the planet. No one would remark upon it."

"I thought you said that one satellite wouldn't be able to do this. Launching one is expensive. How many would you have to have?"

"To get the kind of coverage that they did, I would say at least five, maybe six or seven, depending on their orbits."

"That would be a lot of money just in launching fees, not to mention in construction of the satellites." Crane said thoughtfully. "What about a rocket or some other type of platform?"

"We could track that, would have been tracking anything like that since it launched. Someone would have noticed if it was in position for both blackouts and there is still the issue of the power necessary. All of the possible causes would require considerable amounts of power. Either one reactor or a series of conventional power plants…"Nelson's voice faded off and Crane saw the look in his eyes that he had become familiar with over the years. Nelson had an idea. The admiral grabbed a piece of blank paper and began writing a formula on it. Crane, looking over was quickly lost in the equation, not even able to discern what it was in reference to. That level of physics was a puzzle to all but a few. Nelson rose to his feet, the paper in hand. He waved vaguely at Crane.

"I'll be in my lab." He said distractedly, his eyes not leaving the page. He wended his way up the staircase. Crane watched him go with a small fond smile on his lips. He had no doubt that the solution would be forthcoming soon. He rose to his feet, and went to open the crash doors. He needed to tell Chip something, but it might be best if he waited to reveal the details. The XO would not be happy.

Chapter 4-

The Seaview arrived at Norfolk Naval base the following day. As far as her captain knew Nelson had not emerged from his lab in that time. He had been correct in his evaluation of his XO's reaction about the lack of information. Hickock, as benefited his rank and status, had been informed and had made his opinion clear about the plan also. He had suggested a psychiatric exam for everyone starting at the President and working down to a certain captain. Said captain had smiled and shrugged and said he was simply following orders and Hickock didn't expect him to let Nelson go alone, did they? Chip, picking up on tension, had cast many a suspicious glance at Crane, who had tried hard to maintain his composure in the face of the piercing blue gaze that seemed to be able to read him like an open book.

Grumbling from his friend aside, the rest of the trip had been uneventful. He had made sure that coffee and meals were sent in to Nelson and was told that the admiral had eaten. For his own part, he was going through the list of people that might want to get their hands on Nelson and who would be able to pull off something of this scale. He and Hickock had done some brainstorming the night before but had been unable to reach any conclusions. It was a large-scale effort and the amount of money involved, both on the side of the perpetrators and the side of the countries being held at ransom, was staggering. It was toward the end of that session that an idea began to creep into his mind. He tapped into the Institute online research library and started some research of his own. He had placed some calls this morning back to the Institute and to a few friends in some unusual places. He wasn't sure if he was right, and he wasn't going to mention it until he was, but he might have part of the puzzle. Of course on the other side he had to hope that Nelson had actually come up with something.

Once they were docked he sent a message to the White House apprising them of their arrival. He finished his various reports, trying to clear his desk as much as possible given that he might not be coming back. He paused at that thought. When had 'body guarding' turned to something deadly? Right after, the idea had begun to grow in his mind as to who exactly was doing this and into whose hands they would be going. He was determined that Nelson would return from this alive, if that required the ultimate sacrifice on his part, so be it. Bodyguard he had been named and bodyguard he would be in every sense of the word, up to and including giving his life if necessary. He kept these thoughts from Hickock who, along with Morton, joined him at the table as he finished the last of his reports.

"So, do we have to pry Harry out of that lab or will he come out on his own after a bit?" Hickock asked.

Crane smiled. It was sometimes difficult to know how to approach that particular task. If Nelson was in full research mode, interruptions could be met with fierce temper and orders to leave him alone for anything short of a nuclear war. In other cases Nelson was able to pull away from his experiments easily, stopping as needed. The hard part was telling the difference. "I though I would wait until I heard from the White House about where they wanted us to be and when before I interrupted. A presidential order would ease the blast. So far no stewards have been disemboweled while dropping off food and coffee, so that's a good sign."

Hickock shook his head. "I never struck fear into my crews like this. Harry's temper must not have improved over the years. I could tell you stories…" he began, only to be interrupted by the sound of a clearing throat from the stairwell.

"They don't need to hear any stories from you." Nelson said as he approached the table. He cast his eyes over the reports Crane was working on, and looked up to meet the eyes of his captain. Crane had the feeling that Nelson knew what he was doing and why. He found himself shrugging in answer to a question that wasn't asked. Nelson nodded slightly as if he had heard the answer then sat down.

"Have we heard from the President?" he asked.

"No, sir. I let them know when we docked, but so far no response beyond an acknowledgement. Have you found something?"

Nelson nodded. "Yes, though I'm not sure how helpful it will be. I know how and I think I know who."

"And you don't think this will be helpful?" Hickock questioned.

Nelson shook his head. "Knowing the how doesn't really help, you'll understand once I explain. Knowing the who, if it is who I think it is, that is equally useless as you will also see." He looked at Morton. "Chip, can you get that atlas we had last night?" The XO rose and brought the map back to the table, rolling it out and anchoring the corners. Nelson stood and moved around to stand over the map. He waved his hand over the equatorial region from one side to another.

"There are literally thousands of satellites, both working and obsolete circling the globe in high equatorial orbits at all times. There are almost as many more in different set orbits or that are maneuverable. Each of those satellites has some sort of power source. Theoretically, they should be only solar or chemically powered, but we are sure that there are several nuclear powered at the very least, probably some of our own if the truth is known. Individually, those with conventional plants do not produce a lot of power. The nuclear ones would vary depending on their size." He sat back down, seeing that he had the undivided attention of the three men.

"One of the criteria that I had to look at for finding the cause of the blackouts was the power curve needed. If I worked on the assumption that there was one mechanism being used to produce the waves that caused this, then the power curve was well beyond anything that even a small reactor could produce.

"Waves? You mean like gamma or alpha?" Morton asked.

"Yes. As a matter of fact I eliminated gamma waves almost immediately. There would have been residual radiation that would have been easily read after the fact. There was none. However, I contacted the Institute and had them get me some readings from our weather satellites and spoke with several other Institutes that have satellites in several different orbits. After collating the data I have narrowed the possibilities to one, ceta waves." He saw Crane frown quickly and look down at the papers he was still working on. There had been something in his eyes….

Morton frowned. "I don't remember ceta waves in physics." He said. Crane nodded in agreement. Hickock just gave a laugh.

"You can just imagine how I feel. When I was in school physics was almost purely a theoretical science." The older admiral said.

Nelson shook his head and smiled. "I doubt if there are many outside of theoretical physics labs that _have_ heard of them. They were _purely_ theoretical for almost ten years, but then about three years ago the man that postulated their existence finally proved they were real. Until that time they were classified a type of gamma radiation. Unfortunately his proof came in the form of three dead assistants and, at least as far as I am concerned, the loss of his own sanity. His family had him quietly committed to a psychiatric facility about two years ago. I have seen a few papers on it since then, but nothing approaching the intricacy of this."

"So you know what caused the black out, but what about this power curve? Seems to be a contradiction there. You say it takes big power to create the waves, but there isn't any power up there to make them." Hickock observed, impatient with the science of it all.

"There is a threshold amount of ceta radiation necessary to create the blackout effect. To get to that level with one machine _would_ take a large amount of power…."

"But a whole lot of smaller machines would take a lot less power for each machine." Morton finished, his eyes shining in understanding. Nelson smiled at him, proud of the younger man's deductive reasoning.

"Indeed, Chip! Indeed. A group of satellites, possibly as few as 20 of the larger solar powered, or maybe less if they have nuclear power, could produce the levels needed for the interference we experienced." Once again he saw Crane react, though he said nothing.

"But who could afford to launch that many satellites? They cost billions of dollars each, not counting the launching fees. It would have to be a super power, and there's damn few of those left. WE didn't do it, and I don't think the Russians could scrape together that much in a few decades, much less in a few years. The Chinese are reportedly just as puzzled as we are, and were definitely just as blacked out as we were. According to my contact they were on the edge of making a preemptive strike on someone when the effect ended." Hickock said. Nelson shrugged.

"That's part of the problem. Lee and I discussed it earlier, but I haven't been able to fit all the pieces together.." He broke off as Sparks came up to the nose and hovered until noticed. "What is it Sparks?"

"I have a call for Captain Crane, sir," he said.

Crane, who had been silent throughout the proceeding discussion rose to his feet. "I need to take this. You go ahead," he said. He went toward the radio shack. Nelson watched him go thoughtfully then turned his attention back to the other two men.

They talked through several different possibilities, but nothing they came up with seemed to fit the criteria. They ran through the possibilities for who might have put the satellites in place, but ran into the same problem. They were still talking when Crane returned to the nose and resumed his chair. Nelson didn't stop participating in the discussion, but part of his attention was on Crane, who didn't seem to be listening. His eyes were distant, and Nelson could detect a tightening around his mouth that usually didn't bode well for someone. The talk petered out and Nelson turned his full attention to the captain.

"Lee, is there something you'd like to share with us?" He asked. He was curious about the call and the captain's continuing silence. Hickock and Morton looked from Nelson to Crane. For his part, Crane blinked several times and finally focused on Nelson.

"I'm sorry, sir. I wasn't listening, what did you say?" he asked.

"I asked if there was anything you would like to tell us, or if you had some theory to put forward. We haven't had much success and you have been very quiet." Nelson paraphrased.

Crane looked away toward the windows. He was silent for several moments then he began to speak, he didn't look back at them as he spoke. "I did some reading on ceta waves, after you mentioned them last night. I didn't understand most of the physics behind it, but I did find something else. I found reference to your Dr. Houseman, the one that lost his assistants and his mind. He _was_ institutionalized for about a year but then he was released, supposedly cured by some newly developed drug protocol. He went back to his work. No one seems to know exactly where he got his funding from, but he had lab facilities at a place called Sacher Aerospace in Prague, facilities that seemed to be waiting for him when he got out. He hasn't published anything since then, though he was pretty prolific before the incident where his assistants were killed. In the last three months he dropped off the radar, hasn't been seen by anyone, even his family." He paused.

"I had some people I know make some enquiries." The other three men exchanged glances, knowing the type of people that Crane knew who could make enquiries. Crane continued, still not looking around. "It seems that Sacher Aerospace is the European equivalent of Jet Propulsion Laboratories. Just like JPL they make a good portion of the satellites for European businesses and governments that don't have their own programs. They tell Sacher what they want the satellite to do and Sacher puts something together for them. Then the businesses contract with a government or private concern with launching facilities to take it into space. Sacher will take care of that for them too if they want, all very helpful and above board."

"Why do I sense that 'helpful and above board' is not exactly what you would call them, Lee?" Morton asked. He didn't think that he liked where this was going or the manner in which Crane was relating the information. There was something behind it, something more than the criminal act they were concerned with. Crane glanced quickly at Morton then back to the windows.

"You're right, they aren't. It took some digging and in the end I could have just made one phone call to the Institute and had the answer, but finally I got there. You would think by now I would have gotten a clue."

Nelson frowned. Crane seemed to be blaming himself for something, but he couldn't figure out what it was. Obviously the young captain's research had been as fulfilling as his own, though on different lines, and there was no reason for the depression that he sensed coming from Crane. "Lee." He said, and then repeated the name until the slim young man turned to look at him. "What is it that you learned? What has you so upset?"

Crane shook his head. "It doesn't matter." He shrugged the question away and looked around the table. "You seemed to be indicating that the ceta waves could be produced by a series of smaller machines, as long as the power was there, am I understanding you correctly?"

"Yes. Houseman's original machine was only slightly larger than this table and it produced enough ceta waves to make up an eighth of what would be needed to cause the blackouts." Nelson replied

"I imagine that if someone knew what he was doing the machine could be miniaturized, made smaller, but just as powerful?" Crane asked

"Houseman was working on a smaller machine when he was committed. I understand that he had made it considerably smaller once he found the method of production. Why, Lee?" Nelson was starting to get an idea of where Crane was going. He didn't like it.

"What if, and this is just a theory, the company was adding something on to each satellite it built. The satellite would do what the company that ordered it wanted but there would be an additional function that they weren't aware of?"

"And then when the time came someone would activate that part of the satellite, it would use the power source, either solar or nuclear, and ceta waves would be produced. Not one machine, or even several, but ten, twenty, or more in various orbits. And there would be no way to tell the satellites that had the machines from any other. Ceta waves leave no residue and would not harm the satellite itself. As far as the owners were concerned they just lost control when the blackout hit. Ingenious." Nelson said in understanding.

Yes, it fit. He could see how it could easily be done. There were thousands of businesses with their own satellites: communications and television being only two sectors. Even governments had contracts with businesses like this Sacher Aerospace to construct satellites. Who would notice the addition of more technology? If this was the case, there was no telling how many satellites there were in orbit with the machines aboard.

Hickock was frowning. "So, if I am understanding you both correctly. These people, whoever they are, are using civilian satellites to produce these ceta waves and we have no way of knowing what satellites have the machines on them and which don't. Somehow I don't think these Sacher folks are going to just give us a list." He looked at Crane. "What did you find out about them? Who are they?"

Once again that look passed through Crane's eyes, but he didn't turn away. "They are listed as a subsidiary of a larger corporation, but once you get to that one you find out it's a front. I had someone working it all night. Finally they had worked their way up the ladder to a corporation here in the States. A Nevada corporation, it was all just on paper, but it was as far as my contact could go."

"We should be able to find out some more. Jules probably has some contacts with the Department of Corporation in Nevada." Nelson suggested.

"I called him, earlier this morning. That was the call that just came back. He called his sources, traced the corporate filing. It's a subsidiary of Torkin Technology."

"Torkin?" Nelson asked. "Why does that sound familiar?"

Crane gave a humorless laugh. "Because you probably saw it in some paper that Pearson had. Torkin Technology is a wholly owned subsidiary of PritCorp, Sacher Aerospace is owned by Jason Pritchard III. And that drug protocol that _cured_ Houseman, guess what pharmaceutical company produced it? PritCorp again. Pritchard is behind this whole damn thing." Mentally he added to himself "_and the President expects us to just walk into his hands_."

Chapter 5-

Three hours later Nelson and Crane were in a White House meeting room, waiting on the President. Crane had been quiet since his revelation, refusing to be drawn out by any of his friends. Nelson had not tried, lost in his own thoughts. They had alerted the White House as to their discoveries and had received a summons for the meeting. Word from Hickock's contacts was that the delegates were gathering in New York for the United Nations meeting. There was a lot of wild speculation going on in the media but so far nothing that had come close to what Nelson now believed was the truth.

Houseman had indeed disappeared. Pritchard, last seen in Hong Kong, had also vanished without a trace. His wife, daughter, and the man that was going by the name of Ortega had gone with him. No one in his remaining organization knew where they had gone. There were no records of any of them leaving Hong Kong and they could find no country that reported their passports being used. If they had flown out of Hong Kong, it had been in a private plane and no flight plan had been filed. The Airbus J480 had the capacity to reach any country in the world without refueling, so they could be anywhere. All point bulletins had discreetly gone out to several law enforcement agencies. They had limited the dispersal since they didn't want to tip their hand to Pritchard. They knew that the man had contacts in many governments and didn't want anyone leaking the fact that they knew who he was.

Not that it mattered in the end. If he couldn't be located before the time for Nelson to be at the appointed place, they would still have to go. Nelson had not been afraid to go previously, even if he was unhappy with Crane's involvement, but now he had serious doubts. He had no illusions about their fate at the hands of Pritchard, his daughter, or Ortiz. They would live only as long as it was necessary for Pritchard to achieve his goals. Knowing who it was, Nelson had no doubt that the goal was power. Oh, there would be a large amount of money involved, but that was just a measuring stick to Pritchard, a way of ostensibly showing what he had. The real attraction was the power and influence the money bought him. He would want Nelson to see that, to know that Nelson knew that he had it, and then…

Nelson didn't want to speculate on what might be next. Ortiz hadn't been called "the Butcher" for nothing, his victims were not just dead they were tortured and mutilated. While Nelson of course had no desire to die himself, the idea of leading Lee Crane into a situation that he knew would result in the younger man's death, possibly in a horrific manner, was doubly distasteful. However, he could find no way to dissuade Crane from accompanying him, in fact, he doubted that there was any option in the matter. Of course their two lives were nothing compared to what he had yet to reveal regarding ceta waves and the effects that they caused. The other scientists working on the problem might have already dropped that particular bomb.

They had a relatively short wait before the President came into the room, followed by various advisors. Crane rose to his feet and snapped to attention. Nelson rose and acknowledged the President's greeting. They all seated themselves around the table, and the President opened a file that one of his aides set before him. He looked over his glasses at Nelson and Crane who were seated together at the foot of the table.

"Well, gentlemen, I can see that we were wise to get you involved in this. You seem to have gathered more information from under the ice cap then most of our agencies have in the last twelve hours." Several of the people in the room shifted uneasily. The President ignored the stir and continued. "I have read over a synopsis of what you have found, and have several questions that you might be able to answer. The first off is what the hell are ceta waves? I'm afraid that even dumbed-down the explanation I got is not exactly illuminating."

Nelson smiled. "As I have said before, sir, there are really only a handful of physicists that actually understand much about ceta waves to begin with. It's understandable that getting a layman's explanation can be difficult. The best way I can describe them to you would be to ask first if you if you understand gamma radiation."

"I know what it is, but I can't really say that I understand it. I'm afraid science was not my strong suit in school. You might as well be talking…."

There was a snort from a man at the President's left. "It _was_ mine, and I still don't understand ceta-waves." Nelson recognized him as the national science advisor, Dr. Edward Worth, a noted zoologist in his own right.

"May I use the board?" he said pointing at the white board on the wall. At the President's nod he rose to his feet and went to the white board picking out a marker. He then started the same lecture he had used for several years in the beginning physics class he had given at the Academy. He had repeated it enough that it had become like a script in his mind. He saw Crane smile slightly as the younger man no doubt recognized the speech. Once he had established the basics of radiation with the more widely recognized gamma rays, he started on his explanation of the ceta waves. He had to stop and restate some of the concepts, with both Crane and Dr. Worth helping on some of the language, but in the end he thought that he had gotten the point across. When he came to the end of the basics he paused. He saw the President look up at him keenly, their eyes meeting and holding for a moment. The president's eyes narrowed.

"There's something else isn't there, Admiral Nelson?" he stated rather than asked.

Nelson nodded, seeing the puzzlement on the other faces in the room. He noticed that Crane did not seem surprised and suspected that during his research Crane had already come across the information that he had been withholding. "Yes, sir, there is something which I haven't mentioned yet and I'm sure that your scientists _have_, though they may not have been clear in their conclusions." He turned back to the board and drew a series of circles one within the other. He turned back to the table.

"As I am sure you have heard over the last several years there has been rising concern about the frailty of the ozone layer. We have managed to cut out many of the chlorofluorocarbons that damage the layer by reacting chemically with the ozone, but still, due mostly to the continued use of fossil fuels we have seen an increasing decline in the layer. As you may recall, the ozone layer is here in the upper stratosphere," He indicated one of the layers on his drawing, "one of the layers of atmosphere that protect our planet from solar radiation." He turned back to the table.

"The way that I was able to isolate the cause of the blackout was by correlating information from weather satellites from around the globe. One of the things those satellites are measuring is the level of ozone in the atmosphere at any given time. I took the information that the satellites had transmitted in the minutes before the first incident, and then the information that was downloaded as soon as they came back on line. As you know there was almost exactly one hour difference in those readings." He drew a circle over the bottom of the circles on the board and a smaller one at the top.

"As you may have also heard the current concerns about the ozone layer are focused on two holes, the largest being over the Antarctic and a smaller slower-growing one over the Arctic. Most of the degradation of the layers has been focused there and it is a slow process. However, during the hour that the communications blackout was in effect, there was a measurable change, I won't give you the levels since it won't mean anything to most of you, but it _was_ significant. In fact it was the largest drop in overall ozone that has been recorded until the second incident. Obviously the effect was building on itself."

"You'll forgive me, Admiral, I can see from your demeanor that this is a serious issue, but I have to admit that I am still a bit lost. What _exactly_ does this mean?" This from the President. Nelson could see that Worth understood him all too well.

"The atmosphere protects us from the cosmic radiation created by the sun. The solar winds blow over us constantly, the Van Alan belt turns most of the really nasty stuff away, but the ozone layer filters the amount of ultraviolet light that reaches the planet. Without it, every living thing would receive incredibly high levels of UV radiation. World temperatures would rise, melting ice caps and glaciers. There would be worldwide flooding. For animals that means extreme sunburns, skin cancers, eye damage, blindness. Even in the night there would be increased danger of skin damage and cellular mutation. The incidence of birth defects would rise astronomically. For plants it would mean massive blight and major crop failures and loss of forage plants. The food chain would be rapidly disrupted, leaving every ecosystem on the planet in danger." He stopped, seeing that he had made his point.

"And these ceta waves, they destroy the ozone layer faster than we are doing already?" Worth asked. He was well familiar with the ozone destruction, Nelson knew, having been a major force in drafting legislation to end the production of certain chemicals that caused damage to the layer.

"Yes. During the initial incident there was a measurable change, something that has never been seen before. And as I said the effect was building on itself, so the second incident had an even greater impact. The layer has replenished itself for now, having returned to it's previous level, but if they are allowed to use this weapon again and I emphasis that it is a weapon as much as any atomic bomb has ever been, then we as a world are in serious trouble.

"If the generators are on for a longer time, or if they are on for the same amount of time in succession, we will see permanent damage to the ozone layer. The effects on animal life will be immediate as our cells are more vulnerable to UV radiation then those of plants. The effects on plant life will take longer, but there will be a terrible impact. I'll leave it to you gentlemen and ladies to imagine the effects of further crop failures in areas already on the edge of starvation. Literally millions will die that are barely hanging on now." He stopped, letting the true nature of the danger soak in. He saw that Crane's face had paled and knew that the captain understood why they would have to walk into the lion's den if he hadn't known beforehand.

The President sat back in his chair, drew in a lungful of air and then let it out. "Well, that's a whole new kettle of fish. We've moved from a major inconvenience to the end of civilization as we know it. I have to admit that my first question is why would anyone do this. I mean it's not like they can simply move out off the planet. If we suffer, they suffer, no matter how much money they have."

Nelson resumed his seat and shook his head. "I don't know, sir. Ceta waves I understand, human nature is a complete mystery."

"They don't know." Everyone turned to look at the source of the statement, Lee Crane. He was sitting next to Nelson, sitting tall and straight, his eyes on the President.

"You have an insight on this, Captain? Please, share with us. I am open to any and all explanations." The President offered.

Crane did not quail before the eyes that studied him critically. If he was aware that he was one of the youngest in the room he made no sign of it. His words were clear and sure. "Pritchard doesn't know. None of them know. The only one that does is Houseman and I'll bet you that he has not mentioned that little fact. Pritchard's motivation in this is power, power over people and things. If the world is in crisis his power base goes to hell, the money will mean nothing." There was a murmur among the listeners and the President frowned more.

Nelson too had some insight that he though he should share. "I knew Dr Houseman, not well, but I did meet and speak with him at various scientific seminars. It happens that I had a chance to speak with him not long before he was placed into the psychiatric facility. He denied any culpability for his assistants' deaths, saying that they had made a mistake. He repeatedly refuted that ceta waves were in any way destructive and insisted that he had found some sort of miracle wave. He was in full expectation of a Nobel Prize; speaking of what he would wear, whom he would invite along, and what he would do with the money. Even if someone else should mention the deadly effects of ceta radiation, he would reject it implicitly."

"Well that's lovely. We have a blackmailing terrorist out to rule the world who has a nutcase scientist on his payroll and evidently doesn't know it," the President observed, tossing his glasses on the table. He looked at Nelson. "What about these three assistants that died, how did that happen?"

"The assistants were killed by direct exposure to the ceta waves. The machine that Houseman created was not sufficiently shielded, as the planet is by the ozone layer. They were irradiated during a test. Houseman had been called away and had ordered them to continue with the testing schedule." He paused. "I always preferred to believe that Houseman was unlucky and that it wasn't planned, but given the current happenings, I have to reevaluate that."

"It gets better and better; a _homicidal,_scientific nutcase." The President observed. He sighed. He looked at the others seated at the table. "Does anyone have any ideas? Are we making any progress on finding these people?" He addressed the last to a man that both Nelson and Crane recognized as Jackson Ellington, Director of the CIA.

"No, sir. We've tried all of the known properties that Pritchard and his various corporations own, but so far there's nothing. We've got people looking all over the world. We're pumping any and all informants that we can find, but the main problem is that Pritchard seems to have kept this pretty close to his chest. If he had help, they went with him and they didn't leave any clues in their office in Hong Kong. We raided it about an hour ago along with the Chinese. There's nothing worthwhile there. Our friends in Hong Kong tell us that his accounts there are closed out. So he took what money he had with him wherever he went."

"I can speak from personal experience that Pritchard has layer upon layer of corporations. It would take us months to sift through all of them." Nelson said. "He could be almost anywhere. He's made payoffs to officials in most of the larger governments on the planet and owns outright the governments in a few smaller third world countries. If he went to one of them they would never report him, they have little to loose. Most of them have limited technology and they would not see themselves as being affected by his threats."

"And we can't share the fact that they and everyone else on the planet are at risk or we'll risk world-wide panic." Observed the director. "We'll keep trying, but we're going to have to make nice and go along with their demands for now." He looked from Nelson to Crane and then back to Nelson. "I understand that there's no love lost between the two of you, Nelson." The last wasn't a question but the admiral answered it anyway.

"No, you would be quite safe in saying that we have very little use for each other. Over the course of the last year Pritchard has on several occasions attempted the equivalent of industrial espionage against my Institute. I also know that he has on several occasions attempted to physically harm or even kill Captain Crane and myself. We have proof that his agents have killed three men, possibly more. We are very definitely _not_ on speaking terms."

"Yet he asks for you and Crane, in fact he demands you and only you. Don't you find that a bit…suspicious?" the director asked.

Nelson placed a hand on Crane's arm as the younger man started to speak. "Maybe to someone with a suspicious mind or who doesn't understand the circumstances, it would appear so. I can assure you that the only reason that Pritchard has asked for me is to suit his own design. He hates the ground I walk on and would go to almost any lengths to have me there to witness what he will consider his greatest triumph. He'll have the world dancing to his tune and he'll have me there to watch it all, unable to do anything about it. Now, before you make any further asinine statements, you might want to consider that there is very little chance that either Captain Crane or I will return alive but that we are still prepared to go. We will do it because it is our duty to this country and to the people of this planet and for no other reason."

The President sat forward, waving a placating hand in the air and spoke sternly. "Let's not let our paranoia get out of hand. I'm sure there will be plenty of accusations to throw around later. For now," He looked at Nelson and Crane, "I want to let you both know that you have my gratitude for volunteering and, to use the regular cliché, 'the thanks of a grateful nation.'" He looked around the room. "We need to use the time we have to our best advantage. I am authorizing whatever is necessary to find these people. If it is possible to end this without asking the sacrifice of two good men, not to mention a large amount of money, then I want a solution found."

Soon after the meeting disbanded and Nelson and Crane went out to the limo that had been put at their disposal. They slipped into the back and Nelson ordered the driver to take them back to Norfolk. He closed the divider and leaned back against the seat cushions. He looked down at his hands for a moment, then turned and looked at Crane who was staring out the window.

"It has been said to me on several occasions that when we work together there are very few things that we can't accomplish. I would like to think that it is true. At least it has been in the past. Unfortunately it seems in the last several months that the stress of this thing with Pritchard has perhaps damaged that rapport. You seem to be distancing yourself not only from me, but from your other friends as well and I blame myself. I think that we need to regain some measure of what we had before we submit ourselves to Pritchard's hands. Otherwise, I do not believe that either of us will be coming back. He'll use the division against us, and we can not afford that for ourselves or for the planet." He began. Crane turned his head to look at him, listening in silence.

"I need to know if we _can_ regain what we had. I understand that you may have….lost faith in me due to the circumstances of the last year." He held up a hand as Crane started to speak and continued. "I don't blame you for that. Pritchard's antipathy is my responsibility, but because of what we share it has become yours as well and I regret that more than I can say. Because of me you have been kidnapped, shot, threatened with death, and have been moved to leave the one place that I know you feel truly at home. I can't make that up to you. But now I want, need, to know what I can do to get us back to the team that we were in the past." Now that he had finished he found that, despite his need to ask the question, he feared what the answer might be. What if the cost of all this had been too high. He knew that Crane would go through with the mission, despite what might happen, but he didn't want dutiful sacrifice.

He needed Lee to be at the top of his game, and needed to be there himself, when they went against Pritchard and his crew. He had found over the last several years, since Crane had come to be captain of the Seaview, that he was able to operate at a higher level, to be better than he had before, faster on his feet, quicker with ideas, more sure in his actions, more able to 'push the envelope'. He attributed that to the knowledge that Lee Crane was there to support his decisions, pull him back when he got too close to the edge, to watch his back. While he was confident that Lee would continue to do that now, he wasn't sure that the reverse was true. Did Lee trust him the same way, even after all that had happened? He had to know.

For Lee Crane the day had been a series of unpleasant moments. First the suspicion and then the realization that Pritchard was behind the plot to extort the world was the lowest point, but it really hadn't improved. The revelation that not only were the ceta waves incredibly disruptive, but also that they posed a direct threat to life on the planet. Of less importance certainly, was the accusation of Director Ellington that Nelson was somehow involved in all of this. Only Nelson's intervention had kept him from rising to his feet and giving the Director a piece of his mind, despite the presence of the President and his staff.

It was just the kind of thing that he had been trying to stop happening by going undercover. He had seen the escalation of violence in Pritchard's war on Nelson and had anticipated a time when there would be a direct and deadly threat. So far it had been opportunistic inconveniences, emotional battering, suborned employees and financial threats. But this, this was a direct attack. Pritchard was using his extortion of the world as a way of having Nelson's own country turn him over to his worst enemy. Insult to injury.

Crane's sense of failure grew with each revelation. He could have stopped this if he had just been more effective in his undercover persona. He had been able to provide some information certainly but, in the end, it was his own presence on the Tantalus that had drawn Pritchard out of the States just before the hammer fell. If he hadn't left to come capture Crane, he would have been there when the government agents went to arrest him. The thought dug at him constantly.

So, this was the price of his arrogance. His pride had become hubris, and evidently the same gods that taken offense with another sailor, Odysseus, had done the same with him. In the Greek myth they had set Odysseus on a twenty-year long trek to his home in punishment. It seemed for him (Crane) they had planned it to be the end of what he held dear, maybe the end of everything. Well, he would have to take a lesson from the myth. Odysseus hadn't quit and he had reached his goal. Crane was determined to do the same. He would do his best to see that if anyone had to suffer, it would be Pritchard, Ortiz, and anyone else on his payroll who sought to hold the world at ransom, who was a threat to Nelson. He had held back before, trying to do things the way he thought that Nelson would expect him to, but now the gloves were off. Even if it meant the end of his relationship with Nelson, he would at least know that the older man was safe.

As they slipped into the limo to go back to Seaview, Crane was going over in his mind the things he could do to help with the effort to locate Pritchard. If the government could deal with Pritchard, he was prepared to let them. He had contacts in strange places, the fruits of his work with ONI, and he was prepared to pull all the strings he could find. After the comment from Ellington, he was not prepared to let the fate of the world or Nelson rest solely in his hands, or those of his men. He didn't trust Ellington not to let some paranoid idea about Nelson sidetrack his efforts. Crane knew that Hickock was also working his contacts, and together they should have a web of informants around the world. The question was would they have the time. He was pulled from his planning by Nelson's voice.

To say that he was surprised by what Nelson was saying would be an understatement. His brain seemed to freeze up, until he heard Nelson say that he believed that Crane had lost faith in Nelson. He had tried to protest, but had been stopped, and had listened as Nelson continued, finally asking him what HE could do to make things the way they had been, as if it was his fault, taking all the blame. For a long moment he couldn't put the words together to say what he wanted, needed, to say, but then it was all there, in his mind like a script.

He started to speak when the limo came to a halt and the driver opened the door and got out. Startled, and knowing that it was far too soon for them to be anywhere near Seaview, Crane looked around, as did Nelson. The limo was in a narrow alley. Nelson's door was almost against the wall. The door on Crane's side was opened suddenly and he lunged toward the man standing there, determined to protect Nelson as best he could. Even as he did it he cursed himself for not paying attention, for being taken unawares. Before he could reach the man he felt something impact his chest and he was thrown back against Nelson. A second something hit him and his mind seemed to whirl. The car and the men reaching toward him were fuzzy. He tried to shake it off, to protect Nelson, but he felt himself falling into a bottomless pit of blackness. He heard voices speaking but could not understand them. As he fell, the last thing he heard was Nelson's voice calling his name.

Nelson finished his speech, and waited anxiously for Crane's response. For the first time in almost two months he could see the emotions in Crane's eyes again and, while he could not read everything that was there, what he could made his heart swell with anticipation. Crane was about to speak when the car came to a halt and the driver got out. Nelson looked around and saw Crane doing the same, no doubt as startled as Nelson was at the change. Nelson saw they were in an alley and that his own door was blocked. Before he could reach for the gun that he had put in his briefcase during their time in the White House, the door on Crane's side was wrenched open. Crane threw himself toward the man that was there, but there was a soft "phut" sound and he was thrown back against Nelson. A second sound and now Nelson could see a gun in the hand of the man in the doorway. He looked at Crane and could see two darts sticking out of his chest. He could also see the young captain's eyes glazing from whatever drug was in the darts. He wrapped his arms around the younger man and tried to resist the hands trying to pull the nearly unconscious man out of the door. A third sound came from the gun and Nelson felt the impact of a dart in his left shoulder.

"Give it up Nelson. Someone wants to see you. He didn't say you and your friend had to be in one piece when you got there." He heard, as the world started to darken. He felt Lee being drawn away from him. He tried to make his muscles work, to hold on, but he couldn't.

"Lee…" he struggled to call out to the younger man, to reach him, but his world suddenly became only darkness and he knew no more.

Chapter 6-

Chip Morton paced the length of the control room, deep in thought. He didn't notice the looks he received from the three crewmen, part of the anchor watch, who were currently working on the hydrophone power systems. Sharkey, who had been supervising the work, scowled at the three and they resumed their task as Morton passed by on his penultimate pass around the room. The chief threw a look at the clock. It had been almost six hours now since Admiral Nelson and Captain Crane had left for the White House and it seemed that they should have been back by now, even with DC traffic. It had been a quiet day, mostly filled with busy work, doing repairs and maintenance that could not be done at sea. The anchor watch was almost finished with those items that had not been cared for in Santa Barbara last week before they sailed. Sharkey was pleased with the progress, but anxious about what was to come.

Scuttlebutt had it that some terrorist had threatened to knock out all the satellites, cutting off communications and television for the whole world. It seemed they wanted a whole bunch of money and they wanted the admiral and the skipper to go along and certify that they could do what they said they could do. This didn't seem like the best of plans to Sharkey, knowing the trouble that the two senior officers managed to get into when they were off the boat and the chief wasn't able to take care of them. Of course he was sure that Seaview would be watching their backs, so at least they would be nearby to rescue them when things got out of hand. Mr. Morton didn't seem to be too pleased with the plan either, as Sharkey had learned by being at the right place at the right time several hours earlier when the other admiral, Hickock, had evidently told the XO what was in the works.

Morton had just about blown a fuse and then, with a glance around at the men in the control room, had retreated to the nose with the retired admiral where they evidently discussed it further. Neither man had looked particularly satisfied when they had emerged. Hickock had left to go to his home, saying he wanted to let his wife know he was still alive, and Morton had spent the day alternately hanging over everyone's shoulder and pacing in deep thought. The XO seemed determined to have the boat ready to go and in full readiness for whatever was to come. Sharkey kind of got the impression that whatever was about to happen was going to happen quickly and the XO wanted to be ready for whatever it was. Morton's ruminations were interrupted by a call from the radio shack where Anderson was on duty.

"Mr. Morton! It's the White House, asking for Admiral Nelson or Captain Crane." Anderson said excitedly. He was new at communications, still in training, and had never had a call from somewhere so important before. He wasn't sure exactly what he was to do since neither of the senior officers was aboard. It wasn't like you just told the White House to call back later. Morton moved quickly back to the radio shack and picked up the phone. Anderson flipped the required switches and nodded to the officer.

"This is Commander Morton. With whom am I speaking?" he said.

"This is Tom Peeples. I'm one of the President's aides. The President had some further questions that he felt Admiral Nelson or Commander Crane would best be able to answer. Is one of them available?"

"Actually, Mr. Peeples. We thought they were still there, or on their way back. We haven't seen them yet."

"They left here over three hours ago. They should have reached you by now. Could they have stopped somewhere, for dinner or something like that?" the aide asked. Morton felt a cold chill shiver down his spine. He motioned to Sharkey with his free hand, blue eyes gone cold. The chief, who had been hovering to the side ostensibly overseeing the men, came over and waited anxiously.

"No." Morton stated flatly. "Given the state of things recently any change in plans and they would have contacted us immediately. Can you tell me _exactly_ when they left and the license number of the limo you sent?"

"I'll get the information immediately and alert the police. They'll make a sweep of their most likely route." The aid said in concern. "Hold for a moment." Morton could hear him talking to someone, and placed his hand over the mouthpiece. He turned to Sharkey.

"The admiral and the captain left the White House over three hours ago. Can you find Sparks and make sure that they didn't call in a change of plans. If there was nothing, get a recall out for the crew. After that get on the horn with the Institute and have them crank up their security, I want them at level one. Tell them to get Pearson on FS2 and get him out here yesterday. Have him bring every scrap of paper he has about Pritchard."

"Aye, sir." The chief said and went to the mic to call Sparks down in the officers' quarters. He already knew what the answer would be. Sparks was too good at his job not to have notified someone else about any incoming call, plus it would be in the log as well. He had seen the empty log page when he had stepped forward, so there was nothing there, but he had orders to follow. A quick conversation with Sparks confirmed his guess and he went to the nose where a landline phone was set up. He dialed the Institute and asked for Chief Hanson in security. As he waited, he watched Morton at the other end of the control room.

The XO was pacing as far as the cord to the phone would allow, which wasn't far. Whatever news he was getting from the White House wasn't good. He waved one of the ratings over and had him pass the word for Winkle, the master at arms.

Peeples finally came back on the line. "Commander Morton, are you there?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry it took so long. I have an all points' bulletin out on the limo. The police will be looking for it. We uh…we do have some bad news already though." Morton braced himself for whatever might come. "We just found out that the driver, the man who was assigned to that limo, he was found dead in one of the restrooms just moments ago. Whoever drove that limo out of here it wasn't one of ours." Chip leaned back against the bulkhead, letting it take his weight. He shut his eyes and tried not to allow the pictures that were suddenly in his head have free rein. Finally, calm reasserted itself and he straightened away from the bulkhead.

"Thank you Mr. Peeples. I am recalling my crew now. We have increased security at all of the Institute properties and will do the same onboard. Would you please keep us apprised of any information that you get?" he asked.

"Of course, Commander. I'm sorry that something like this happened. We didn't believe that there was any threat. The terrorists were supposed to contact us with a time and place. We'll do everything we can to make sure that they are returned unharmed." They signed off and Morton put the phone down slowly and deliberately. It was either that or shatter it on the deck.

Morton looked around for Sharkey who appeared at his side. "Chief, get the master at arms up here. I want armed guards on the sail. No one, and I mean no one, gets aboard without clearance from you or me. Every returning crewmember is to be checked in and I want someone up there that knows everybody. I won't have someone sneaking aboard."

"I've already passed the word for Winkle, sir. I got the recall sent out. I sent it out with priority one, sir. I hope that's Ok." Sharkey reported. Usually priority one was reserved for emergencies and he was afraid he might have overstepped his authority. Morton slapped him on the back.

"I can't think of a bigger emergency, Chief, thanks. Can you take care of Winkle? I want to call Admiral Hickock."

"I'll take care of it, sir." Sharkey watched as Morton went to the nose and then turned to deal with Winkle.

In the nose Morton sat and picked up the phone. He had Anderson connect him to the number that Hickock had left. A maid picked up and Morton asked for the admiral. After a moment the gruff old man came to the phone.

"Morton? What now?" He said good-naturedly. It turned to a grim silence as Morton spoke, detailing what they knew and what they thought they knew. Finally, when Chip had finished, he heard a sigh from the other end.

"Damn it! We should have thought of this. Pritchard has always been proactive. It didn't seem likely that he would just wait and have Nelson or Crane refuse to go, as if they would. So now he's taken the choice out of it. I assume they have the police looking for the limo?" At Morton's affirmative, he continued.

"If they left the White House over three hours ago then they are probably already out of the country, no doubt on a charted jet. They're probably halfway across the Atlantic or well on their way to South America by now. I'm sorry to say that we're not going to find them, at least not right off. It'll be a matter of finding out where Pritchard is holed up and going after them. Are you ready, Commander?"

"I'm ready to go wherever I have to go, sir, as is the Seaview. I've put out a recall for the crew. I'll have a full complement within the hour. We're ready to sail as soon as we have a destination. I've put a call in to the Institute and I have Mr. Pearson on the way with his papers so that we can start digging for anything that we've missed. There's got to be some clue. In this day and age you don't just drop off the radar completely. We just aren't looking in the right place."

"Hmm, I'm sure that you are right. I'll get some of my people looking again too. This wouldn't have been cheap and he had to have someone here coordinating things. You do realize this means that Pritchard still has some damn high clearance contacts, don't you? Otherwise whoever killed that driver wouldn't have made it into the White house to begin with. We're going to have to remember that and keep what we learn to ourselves. We don't want to tip Pritchard off if, WHEN, we find him."

"Do you…" Chip started to speak, but had to stop and clear his throat. "Do you think that he'll keep them alive? Give us a chance to rescue them?" His heart seemed to stop beating as he waited for the answer. This man had many more years of experience than he in just about everything, and especially in dealing with men like Pritchard.

Hickock drew in a deep breath and then let it out in a gust "I think he'll keep Harry alive as long as he feels that he can rub his nose in what he plans to do. He'll use him and flaunt his power. He doesn't understand that to Harry its all nonsense. He can only see that it means something to him. So yes, I think he's still alive and that we'll have a chance." The older man paused and Morton felt his unbeating heart twist.

"And Lee?" He had to ask.

There was a prolonged silence from the other end of the phone. Morton was reminded that Hickock was very fond of the younger captain and felt that much worse for having to know the answer. It seemed almost cruel to make Hickock say it out loud. "Lee is another matter altogether. He's a lever for Pritchard to use against Harry. That gives him some value but you know both of them, and they won't play Pritchard's game. He expects them to be like him, to think like he does. Pritchard has no clue. Either one would die for the other or to save the world from whatever Pritchard and his tame scientist have in mind. Pritchard, on the other hand, wouldn't put his life on the line for anything and you can bet the rest of his 'gang' are made of the same stuff. They'll try to use Lee against Harry and Lee will make sure that won't happen." He said grimly. "No matter what that takes. You know how he can be."

Morton did indeed know how Crane could be. If he thought that his continued existence was damaging to Nelson, then he would find a way to put an end to it. A little extra taunting of his captors, a seemingly suicidal escape attempt, perhaps even an attack in the face of overwhelming odds, and he would get what he wanted. The lever would be gone. And so would Lee Crane, Morton couldn't, wouldn't, allow that.

"Then I guess we better find them quickly, before that can happen," he stated firmly, his tone leaving no doubt that he would accept nothing less. Hickock was silent for a moment, and then he answered in the same tone.

"Damn right we will."

Chapter 7-

For Nelson, regaining consciousness was much like diving into cold water. First the shock of the cold then gradually becoming used to it, becoming comfortable. He woke suddenly, from one moment to the next going from nothing to full consciousness. But everything was too much: too bright, too loud, too hot, too everything. Then it seemed to settle down and he was once again in control of his body and his thoughts. Not that it helped much however. As he lay there, his eyes open and staring up at a white ceiling, he wasn't quite sure why he was awakening or where.

He cast his mind around, trying to remember why he was asleep. He didn't recall going to bed, and he was sure that the ceiling he was looking at was not the one in his room at his home in Santa Barbara. His mind informed him that he had last been on the Seaview but he discarded that thought, as the white ceiling was definitely not the overhead in his cabin. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Another thought seemed to be struggling to make it through, something about Washington DC. With that thought, everything seemed to come flooding back in.

The communications blackouts, the ceta waves, the trip to Washington DC, the revelation of Pritchard's involvement, the meeting at the White House, the trip back to the Seaview….his eyes flew open. LEE! He remembered asking Lee the question that had been on his mind for the last several weeks, and that the younger man had been about to answer when they realized that the limo had stopped. There had been other men and Lee had fallen back against him, unmoving. He remembered the dart hitting his own shoulder and falling into darkness. Now the question was where was he and, more importantly, where was Lee?

Suddenly a sound intruded on his thoughts and brought his surroundings to his attention. He turned his head with more difficulty than it should have taken. Realized he was in a small room, done in white stucco. He was lying on a narrow bed. As his eyes scanned the small room, they came to rest on another bed that was against the opposite wall. Lee Crane lay on it facing Nelson, eyes closed, face slightly pale. Sitting on the side of the bed was a woman, her back toward Nelson. He could see styled blond hair and expensive looking clothes. As he watched, he saw her reach out and run a scarlet nailed finger down Crane's jaw and across his lips. As if in response to the touch, Crane tossed his head and Nelson heard a slight moan.

The woman reached again and ran her hands through Crane's dark hair, mussing the short curls, again Crane seemed to try to avoid the touch. The woman was not dissuaded however and she lowered her hand to the top button of Crane's shirt. She undid it and then moved to the next. Nelson was not prepared to see how far she was going to go. He swung his legs off the bed, having to stop as his head spun. After a moment the room steadied and he rose to his feet. In a few steps he was across the room and he seized the woman's arm as she placed a hand on Crane's exposed chest, dragging her to her feet.

"Take your hands off him." Nelson growled, pulling the woman around so that he could see her face and moving her away from the unconscious younger man. As he came face to face with her, he felt what could only be a gun barrel dig into the back of his neck and froze.

They stood there in that tableau for several seconds. The woman, her wrist in Nelson's hand, standing and facing him, eyes blazing with anger, Nelson, his eyes now locked with hers, determined in spite of the gun to keep her away from Crane, and the unknown gunman, the barrel of his gun against Nelson's neck. Finally, the woman wrenched her arm from his hand and stepped away.

"How quaint. Protecting his honor," she said sarcastically and motioned for the gunman to back off. In a continuation of the same movement she brought her hand up and slapped Nelson across the face, catching him by surprise.

"Never. Touch. Me. Again." She growled. Nelson was not surprised to see that this was the woman who had been in the photograph that had angered Crane several days earlier. Lucinda Pritchard. He could see the Pritchard genes in the shape of her face and the cold eyes. What could have been a beautiful face was to Nelson however overly made up and artificial. While he made no pretense of being an expert at guessing a woman's age, he would place her in her forties and desperately trying to not look it.

Nelson glared back at her and lifted a hand to wipe away the blood that he felt trickling from the corner of his mouth. He had only to think about what this woman had attempted in Costa Nuestra for his own temper to rise. He moved slowly until he was standing between her and the bed. "If you touch him again I will forget that you are a woman. You may find it necessary to tie up," he saw by her eyes that she understood his reference as he continued, "or drug your partners, but you will leave him ALONE! And if you think he," he motioned to the so far silent man who had retreated back to stand by the door, gun holstered, "will make a difference, then you had better think again."

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't try to push past him. Instead she leaned close to him and spoke in a low voice. "Don't push me, old man. No one pushes me. You might want to remember that Daddy Dear doesn't really _want_ him. You push me and I'll make sure he's suddenly disposable." With that threat and a last glance at Crane that made Nelson's temper rise again, she turned on her high heels and went out the door that the gunman held open for her. After the door closed, he could hear a key turning in the lock. Unconcerned about that at the present time, he turned and sat on the bed at Crane's side.

He gently placed a hand on Crane's forehead. It didn't seem to be too warm and he didn't appear clammy as if he were in shock. Evidently the double dose of whatever they had used in the darts had affected the young captain more heavily than it had Nelson. There were no windows in the room and Nelson had no way of knowing what time of the day or night it might be so he could only guess at how long they had been unconscious. He put a hand up to rub his face where the woman had slapped him and noticed that his face was slightly bristly. His beard had grown. That meant they had been unconscious for at least eight hours if he was any judge of his rate of beard growth.

He ran his hand through Crane's hair, as if to erase the touch of the woman and then did up the buttons of his shirt. He noticed for the first time that Crane's jacket and tie were missing as was his own. A quick look through his pockets showed him that they had been emptied and he was sure that Crane's were a well. Staying seated where he was, he took the time at last to look around the small room, his one hand absently resting on Crane's shoulder. Like the ceiling the walls were also of white stucco, unrelieved by pictures or vents. A single light fixture, protruding slightly from the ceiling, lit the small area with florescent light. There was a single door, two cots and in one corner, partly hidden by a small partition, what appeared to be a toilet. "_All the amenities_." Nelson thought to himself.

"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto," he murmured out loud, and then nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice at his side replied in a groggy tone.

"Did you get the license number of the tornado that hit us?"

Nelson turned back around, and found himself looking into a pair of slightly glazed golden eyes. He smiled and squeezed the shoulder beneath his hand. "About time you woke up. I thought you were going to goldbrick all day." He kidded gently. Crane gave him a small smile. Then Nelson saw the golden eyes blink and sharpen. Crane looked around the room. He didn't doubt that the younger man had taken in everything in that one glance. The now-intense eyes returned to him.

"Are you okay?" At Nelson's nod he continued. "Pritchard?"

Nelson nodded. "At least his daughter. I had the pleasure about five minutes ago. I haven't seen anyone but her and a guard." He stood as Crane pushed himself into a sitting position and then put his legs over the side. He bent forward for a moment head in hands, and Nelson knew that Crane was experiencing the same head spinning that he had earlier. After a moment he rose to his feet. He swayed slightly and Nelson grabbed his arm. "You might as well sit back down, Lee. There's nowhere to go. I don't even know where we are or how long we were out."

Crane did not sit back down, as Nelson had known he wouldn't. Instead he prowled the confines of the room, looking closely at the door and the facilities then glancing up at the light fixture. Finally he came back to the bed and sat down. Nelson caught a quick flash of Crane's eyes and sat beside him on the bed as Crane leaned forward again, resting his head in his hands as if the effects of the drug were continuing. Acting on some instinct that he didn't really recognize, Nelson moved closer and wrapped an arm around the slim shoulders.

"Lee, are you all right?" he asked. The dark head shook, raising his level of concern, but a soft voice quickly put his mind at ease.

"They're watching, probably listening. The light fixture, I recognize the set up. It doesn't fit the rest of the fixtures," Crane murmured in a voice that would not carry. Nelson squeezed his shoulders to let him know that he understood.

"You should lay back down. You got a double dose of whatever they had in the darts. It may take a while to get out of your system," Nelson said in a regular tone as if Crane had not spoken.

"Play along Harry. Remember what you said in the limo, we do best when we work together," came the soft voice again, just before Crane surged to his feet, throwing off Nelson's arm. "Well are you satisfied now?" Crane said loudly, staggering a little as he moved away. Nelson also rose to his feet.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You got what you wanted, didn't you?" Crane said with almost a sneer in his voice.

"I don't know what you mean, Lee," Nelson said. He thought he saw where Crane was going with this and was willing to play along. It might give them the edge that they needed.

"You wanted to meet Pritchard face to face. Match wits with the bastard. Well, you got your wish, didn't you, and you dragged me along with you. Not that I should be surprised, you practically order me to 'volunteer' for bodyguard duty and make it sound like I want to go to the President. You would have shoehorned me into it anyway."

"Now, Lee..." Nelson started only to be cut off by a waving hand. He noticed that while Crane was pacing he was studying the door closely on every pass. He also noticed that Crane had made a very good job of putting a new spin on what had taken place in the conference at the White House. He suspected, as obviously did Crane, that Pritchard had some knowledge of what had gone on there.

"No! I have had it. You may have talked me into doing things your way where the Seaview is concerned, but this is MY life and I resent it like hell that you think you can run me. Not that it matters now of course. We're in it up to our sixes. Just don't antagonize the man, I would like to get out of this alive," he said bitterly. For a moment Nelson almost took the words to heart, finding them too close to what he feared the young man might think of him, but then he caught a wink from Crane as he went by. He stiffened in pretend affront.

"Now, Lee, I couldn't very well volunteer myself and then tell the President that the Captain of my submarine wouldn't go along. What was I supposed to say? 'My captain isn't prepared to make a sacrifice for his country.' That would have been nice, and the end of a good portion of the government contracts the President's administration sends our way. Not to mention any hopes you may have had for promotion."

"Oh, yeah. Mustn't forget the bottom line. That's the important thing after all. What I might want is beside the point." With that Crane threw himself back on the bed, leaning against the wall. Nelson had a vision of a petulant teenager for a moment and had to hide a smile.

"You know it's more than that. Anyway, you don't know what might happen here. Pritchard wants to show off and he wants to do it in front of me. I'm willing to give him the opportunity if it gets me in front of him and gives me the opportunity to tell him what damage the ceta waves can do." Nelson saw approval flash in the golden eyes. Good, he had guessed correctly. "I can't believe that Houseman would have told him. As greedy as Pritchard is, I really don't think he's over the edge enough to condone the destruction of the ozone layer. We have to make sure that those generators are not turned back on."

Crane waved a hand and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure he's really going to be reasonable about that. Do you think Houseman is going to tell him the truth? He lied about his assistants already and really seems to believe it. The man is a nutcase, whether they say he's cured or not. He'll just deny the whole thing. You think Pritchard is smart enough to go to some other source? He certainly isn't going to believe anything YOU say." Nelson was pleased to see that Crane followed as well as he led in the deception that they were building.

"If I could see Houseman, talk to him, I can make him understand. He has a blind spot now, but he is a scientist, he'll see the logic.."

"He's insane! Pritchard retrieved him from a sanitarium after giving him some experimental drug. You said that direct ceta waves cause organic damage, damage that killed his assistants and made him insane, do you really believe that any drug would have fixed that or that he'll listen to your logic? You may be as delusional as he is."

"You know, Lee." Nelson started, his voice stern, "even though we may not have gotten here in the way we thought, we are here at the behest of our Commander –in-Chief, in an official capacity. That makes me not only your employer but also your superior officer. You will address me with the respect due that position. I have cut you more than enough slack over the last several months…"

Crane interrupted, opening his eyes and sitting up. "Is that what you call it, cutting me slack? I give up everything to go and try to get some information for you and, when I get back, all I get is how I neglected my responsibilities and how you expect more from me than a regular employee. Well, I got news for you, that's all I am evidently; an employee."

Nelson raised a hand in supplication." Let's not talk about this now. We have more important things to consider than ourselves." He said reasonably. Time to give Pritchard something else to think about. "We have to figure out what we are to say to Pritchard to stall him. Once they seize the records of Sacher Aerospace, it will only be a matter of time before they will be able to narrow down which satellites are carrying the generators. Once they have the orbits it will just be a case of using the detector to locate the satellite with the leakage and they can blow it out of existence with the lasers." Let Houseman deny that little rumor.

"I'm sure that you two can come up with something to talk about." Crane said sarcastically. He lay down on the bed and dropped an arm over his eyes. "I'm still feeling kind of rocky. I'm going to try to get some sleep." He uncovered his eyes and looked at Nelson. "That is, if it's okay with you, _sir,_" he added almost petulantly.

Nelson, his back to the camera, smiled at Crane and saw an answering spark in the golden eyes, which he knew they would not see on the camera. He waved an imperious hand. "Go ahead. I have things to think about. You won't be much use in this mood."

Crane turned over and faced the wall. Nelson suspected he was working on whatever plan he had been hatching with his playacting. Nelson retreated to his own bed and sat down with his back against the wall, considering the position that they were in.

In an office down the hall from the cell, Jason Pritchard III reached out and flipped off the monitor that showed the small room where Nelson and Crane were being held. He had watched the two men argue with a small satisfied smile on his face. "_Well, well,_" he thought, "_So much for the fair haired boy act. It seems that I've managed to disrupt your life more than I knew."_He sat back in his chair and turned toward the door as he heard it open. His smile faded as his daughter came into the room followed by Ortiz. Lucinda crossed the room and sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Ortiz went to the bar that made up one end of the room and poured two drinks. He handed one to Lucinda and sat down in a chair nearby. Pritchard frowned at his daughter.

"Can't you turn it off? I don't need you feeling up the prisoners." He growled at her.

She smiled back at him, unfazed by his displeasure. She took a sip of her drink before she replied. "It was just _one_ of the prisoners. I'll leave Nelson to you." She glanced at the monitor and raised an eyebrow. "Did you enjoy watching, Daddy?" she asked.

He didn't dignify that with an answer and turned to Ortiz. "I think we need to talk to Houseman. It seems he didn't tell us everything about his invention or the effects of those waves of his. I want the whole story and I want it now."

Ortiz frowned. "He's in the facility now. Do you want me to send for him?"

Pritchard leaned back in his chair and turned partially back so that he could see the black monitor. He nodded. "Yes, send for him. When he gets here don't say anything. I want him and Nelson to come face to face with no warning. Nelson may be a pain in my ass, but he knows what he's talking about and I want to see what Houseman does."

Ortiz nodded and rose to his feet. He put his glass back on the bar and went out one of the open French doors that led onto the large patio area. Focused on his destination, he did not let his eye wonder over the stunning vista that lay before him. The house stood on a cliff overlooking a large bay. The beach far below was an almost blinding white, while the water was an azure blue that rivaled the sky. The surf was light, slapping rhythmically against the shore. Ortiz however was focused on the third set of doors down from where he had exited the building. Most of the rooms on this floor opened on a patio, and it was usually easier to move from room to room this way rather than using the interior halls.

He entered a room where three men were sitting at monitors. The views on the monitors changed constantly, showing various parts of the island that they were on. Most of the shoreline was inaccessible, made up of sheer cliffs and sharp volcanic rocks. The bay below and a second smaller bay on the north side of the island were the only viable docking spots. In the bigger bay was a large yacht, swinging at anchor in the middle of the bay. In the smaller bay was another vessel, not one usually seen at a private boat dock. It was a small submersible. As Ortiz came in one of the men turned and looked at him. He was a short man, deeply tanned with short curly black hair. His face was lined and his dark eyes were surrounded by crow's feet, though he was not particularly old. Though short in stature, his body was thick and it was obvious when he moved that none of that thickness was fat. There was scarring across his knuckles and his nose showed signs of many altercations.

Ortiz nodded to him. "Put in a call to the facility. I want Houseman up here as soon as possible." He said. He looked at the monitor that showed the smaller bay, the current camera shot was from across the bay, but he could still see the submersible. He frowned. "Andreas, I thought you told them that the sub was to be covered when not in use or in the boathouse. If someone flew over they could spot it easily. We do not need idle chatter on the mainland."

"I will remind Demitrius. He was planning on going back down soon so he didn't put the net over." Andreas said in accented English. "There have been no planes or other boats within sight. We have been sure to warn off the locals, and the tourist boats do not come this direction since they know they cannot land."

"That works until someone comes and takes a picture, or talks in a bar." Ortiz said then waved the subject away. "In any event we need him to go get Houseman. Get a jeep over there and bring him here when they dock." He started back out of the doors, but paused. "And Andreas, tell Demitrius that there are to be no excuses this time, if he doesn't come willingly tie him up and drag him here."

He went back out the door. Back on the patio he headed toward the office, noting the presence of Pritchard's wife, Bonnie, on the lower patio near the pool there. She was wearing only the bottom part of a very brief bikini, and sunning herself on a lounger. In another lounger near her a man lay also sunning himself. Ortiz could not stop the sneer that curled his lip. Dr. Edward Jennings, plastic surgeon. The woman refused to go anywhere without him and, as he was on a permanent retainer, the doctor did not protest. The man was in his fifties and had two 'nurses' who looked to be in their twenties. They were not in evidence at this time, but earlier they had been swimming, in bikinis even briefer than Mrs. Pritchard's though Ortiz would have thought that impossible. As would any man, he enjoyed looking at the female body, but he held any woman who would display herself in such a way to a man to whom they were not married to be like a whore. They were distractions they didn't need here. However, he was not the one in control. That was Jason Pritchard and the man made no concessions to security concerns. That was up to Ortiz to deal with, as he would.

He went back into the office where Pritchard and his daughter still sat in silence. Ortiz had found that the two really had little to talk about. The older man issued orders and the woman took every opportunity to test her father's temper. The woman he found interesting, if promiscuous. The man, he found he respected for the most part. In the long term, they were a means to an end. With his portion of the ransom money they would glean, he would return to Costa Nuestra and dispose of those men that had forced him to run. When he was finished, there would be no one left who remembered his disgrace or at least no one who would dare mention it.

"They are bringing Houseman." He said as he returned to his previous seat. Pritchard nodded absently, obviously lost in his thoughts. Ortiz turned to Lucinda and raised an eyebrow. He took it from Pritchard's earlier comment that she had been in to see the prisoners. He himself had not seen them since they had been brought in earlier that day. Both had been unconscious, the result of drugs given them on the flight from Washington DC. He had escorted the men carrying the two to the cell and had seen them deposited on the beds. He had stood for a moment looking down at Crane, fighting the urge to waken the younger man and make him aware of his circumstances. But that was not part of the plan. Pritchard was sure that Crane could be used against Nelson and nothing would be allowed to interfere with that plan, including Ortiz's desire for revenge. In the end he would get that revenge though, he would see to that as well.

Pritchard began telling them what he had heard on the monitor. Both frowned as they realized the implication. The older man finished up with his plan to have Nelson and Houseman come face to face. The two were both men of science, something that the three had little understanding of. Let them argue and the result would dictate what path would be taken. They had come too far to be turned back by threats of worldwide disaster, but it was something to be considered. There would be little use in gaining power and money in a world where survival was the only criteria. But the added factor would make their threat more difficult to sustain, while giving it added power as well.

The governments of the world would of course be anxious to keep such a threat from becoming reality, and would put up the required funds. However, they would also know that those responsible would be as affected as anyone else on the planet, and would suspect that they would not use such a weapon. This might spawn a counter-movement to not pay the ransom and call what could be assumed to be a bluff.

"And what if they do 'call our bluff'?" Lucinda asked. "Any wonderful ideas about that?"

"I want to wait and find out exactly what we're dealing with first before I make any plans. You can bet that Nelson has spread his version to as many people as possible back in DC. It won't take long to get around to the delegates."

"And you think Nelson is right?" Ortiz asked. He was well aware of Pritchard's antipathy for the scientist. Having Pritchard now seem to value the man's opinion seemed contrary to that dislike.

Pritchard snorted. "As much as it goes against the grain, the man knows his business as well as I know mine. He's no fool when it comes to _that_. I have to take what he says seriously. Lord knows, Houseman is about as loose a screw as you could find. Are you sure that drug protocol works?" He addressed the last to Lucinda who rolled her eyes.

"It worked on other people during the testing phase." She said, "His doctor said he was cured. It's not like we were going to argue about it."

"Well maybe you should have. How much did you pay this doctor of his to use the drug protocol? Did anyone bother to consider that he might just not want us to stop payment on the check?"

"Why, Daddy, what a cynical view of the world," she said sarcastically as she rose to get another drink. Once she had reseated herself she shook her head. "To tell the truth, especially after this last little revelation, I doubt that it did work. After all, what kind of sane scientist helps to build something that can destroy the world as we know it and helps to deploy it without so much as mentioning the possibility?" Pritchard stared at her in disapproval for a moment but she simply stared back, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know why I worry about outsiders bringing us down, when you seem to be doing such a good job of it," he finally growled. She rolled her eyes again and sipped at her drink.

"How long is it going to take to get Houseman here?" Pritchard asked, turning away from his daughter and looking at Ortiz.

Ortiz looked at the clock. It had been almost a half hour since he had passed the message. "Should be anytime. It's only ten minutes out and another ten back. I told them not to take no for an answer."

"Yes, I have notice that Doctor Houseman tends to march to his own tune regardless of who is paying the drummer. I'll have to remind him that his funding is not limitless or under his control." As Pritchard finished speaking the inner door opened and a guard ushered in a tall, thin, pale man. The man began speaking almost as soon as he was in the room.

"This is interrupting my research. I was promised time to do my research. That was part of the deal. I did what you wanted, now you have to leave me alone," he demanded.

"I don't _have_ to do anything Doctor._I_am paying for your research. _I_ got you out of your little sanitarium. If you wish to continue your work, you will do what I tell you to do _when_ I tell you to do it. Is that perfectly clear?" Pritchard asked. The other man pushed his glasses back up from where they had slipped and nodded reluctantly.

"I am busy though," he said sullenly, almost like a child interrupted at play.

Pritchard ignored that and looked at the guard. "Bring both of our guests here. Take some help. Crane is a trained intelligence operative and should not be underestimated," he ordered. The guard nodded and went out.

Ortiz looked at Pritchard. "They are trained men. They can handle Crane."

"That's what we thought before. The man is a slippery as an eel and I intend to keep them both."

"As you wish." Ortiz said. Houseman looked from one to the other.

"What are you talking about? Who is Crane and why do I have to be here?"

"Patience, Doctor. As you were told, we offered the world a chance to verify that our threat was legitimate and that we could duplicate our effect. To do that we had to have someone who knew what he was talking about had no interest in our little enterprise. For reasons that you have no need to understand, I picked such a person and arranged for him and another to be brought here. They will be joining us in a moment."

"You kidnapped some university hack or some common researcher and expect him to understand my creation?" The Doctor said incredulously. "Do you think that everyone who calls themselves a scientist can understand what I have done here? They laughed at me because they _couldn't_ understand! They don't have the imagination to think outside their petty rules. Well, they are not laughing now I can tell you. How can anyone verify what they do not understand?"

"That remains to be seen, Doctor. For now I suggest, strongly, that you sit down and shut up." Pritchard said loosing patience with the man's histrionics. He scowled at Lucinda who smirked at him with a shrug of one slim shoulder. They sat in silence for several minutes until the doors opened once again.

First Nelson and then Crane walked into the room. Two guards followed them, with weapons drawn. As Nelson approached, Houseman jumped to his feet and looked from the admiral to Pritchard. "Nelson?" He practically shouted at Pritchard. "You kidnapped Harriman Nelson?"

"So it would seem," Pritchard said calmly, not really paying any attention to the man. He motioned for the guards to remain at the door. They moved to stand against the closed doors, holstering their guns. Pritchard turned his attention to the two men who now stood in the middle of the room. Both were taking in their surroundings and, almost as one, turned their eyes to Pritchard. His own eyes narrowed as they met those of Nelson.

"Gentlemen, how nice of you to join us." He favored them with a smile that they did not return. Crane, in a move that made the smile drop off Pritchard's face, seemed to dismiss him and resumed looking around the room, his golden colored eyes passing over Lucinda with a flare of contempt that amused her father despite his ire at the young man's arrogance, and then settled on Ortiz. There was no mistaking the hate between the two men. Pritchard noted that the captain seemed in no way intimidated by the situation. As his eyes returned to Nelson he saw that the older man was also unfazed. He didn't like that.

"You'll forgive me if I don't feel welcome." Nelson said sarcastically. He looked around the room, his eyes lingering on the open doors to the patio and the blue sky meeting the sea at the horizon visible beyond the small wall that edged the patio. He then turned his piercing gaze back to Pritchard. He stalked across the room and came to stand over the desk, ignoring the other people in the room to confront Pritchard head on. "What the hell are you playing at? Do you realize what a disaster you can bring on this whole planet in your search for money and power? It was bad enough when you tried to wipe out the oceans with your greed, do you have to drag the whole human race down with you?" he demanded. Pritchard came to his feet, refusing to be towered over by a man of shorter stature. But even standing he found himself on less than even footing and was secretly glad when Houseman interrupted.

"You don't know what you are talking about, I…" he started only to have Nelson stalk back to him and point an accusing finger in his face.

"You," Nelson said accusingly, "are worse than him! Despite their intent, they can at least claim ignorance but you have no such excuse. You know the danger of the ceta waves and what could happen if you use them repeatedly. Did you tell them?"

"I expected you to understand, Nelson!" Houseman said. "You heard my paper at the conference. You were one of the few that understood the physics. The ceta waves are not destructive in and of themselves…" Nelson interrupted him again.

"Not destructive?" Nelson said incredulously. "And to what exactly do you ascribe the death of your assistants? Gremlins?"

"They were fools. They didn't follow the procedures that I laid out. If they had done so then they would still be alive. They should have removed the atmosphere from the chamber before they started the machine and, if they had, they would not have entered it when things started going wrong."

"I read your lab notes. You made no mention of the possible direct effects of ceta irradiation. Those three people died a horrible death because you developed a blind spot."

"You heard my paper. The ceta radiation improved the growth of crop plants exponentially when used correctly. The use of ceta waves could have ended world hunger, but you all were jealous of my discovery and tried to bury my research! My funds were taken away and the university removed my research permit. I had to work on my own with only the three assistants and with my own money. Then those idiots got themselves killed."

"It is touching that you are willing to sacrifice anything, including the lives of your assistants, to further your research," Nelson said sarcastically. "However did you bother to consider the effects of those waves on the ozone layer? If you had instituted your testing on a large scale you would have started destroying it from within instead of from without, like you are now. It only worked in a vacuum created in your lab. You were well aware of the similar effects that gamma radiation has on plant growth and chose to ignore the possible negatives of the ceta radiation. It was irresponsible, unconscionable, and more, it was bad science." The last words dripped with contempt. Houseman was completely taken aback and seemed to be speechless with rage if the level of color in his face was any indication. Pritchard moved around the desk and came to stand near the two scientists.

"Well. It seems there is a disagreement. I'm afraid you gentlemen will have to work that out between you. In the end it makes little difference to our plans. We will still expect the money to be delivered when and where we say," he intoned.

"Were you listening at all?" Nelson demanded, turning on him. "The ceta waves are deadly. They will wipe out the ozone layer, allowing solar radiation to kill off the plant and animal life on this planet. No amount of money can protect you from hunger or skin cancer. If you use those satellites again you can bring about the extinction of our entire species!"

"I hadn't realized that you were so fond of hyperbole, Nelson. Another annoying habit that I can hate about you," Pritchard observed sarcastically.

"If you think that I am 'tending to hyperbole' then why did you bother to include us in your little plan? I have no more fondness for your character than you do for mine and will do anything I can to make sure that you and the rest of your employees are brought to justice. The only reason I can think of for our presence here is hubris. You think you have the world on the run and you wanted me to see it. I remind you that 'pride goeth before the fall', and in one way I am glad that I will be here to see it happen and help hurry it along."

Pritchard sneered. "You and your upright, 'holier than thou' attitude make me sick, Nelson." He growled as he went to stand toe to toe with the shorter man. Nelson gave no ground, meeting Pritchard's gaze with his own. "You _will_be here to see it all, Nelson. You'll see me get all the money I ask for and all the power that it can buy. And while that happens, you'll be able to do _nothing_."

"Oh, I wouldn't count on that Pritchard. By taking us in this way instead of waiting, you've forced the hand of some people that will never give up until they locate us, people that you cannot buy. People who don't care how much power you have or how much money you've got. People who know what a _small_ man you are and are not afraid."

Pritchard's arm went back almost on its own and he was preparing to strike the other man when the motion was stopped by the sound of hands clapping. Both of the men turned to see Crane, slowly clapping his hands in an exaggerated motion, a look of disdain on his face.

"If you two could only see yourselves. Why don't you just call each other out and 'settle this like gentlemen'?" He threw up his hands. "Oh, I forgot. One of you isn't a gentleman and the other is too much of one to take it where it needs to go. Well, I can tell you I'm tired of all this posturing. If you two want to have your little vendetta why don't you just leave me out of it?" Pritchard wasn't sure who was more shocked at the interruption, himself or Nelson. As it was they both stood there staring at the younger man.

Chapter 8

"The Tantalus!" The exclamation came from Chip Morton who was sitting at the table in the nose of the Seaview, going over some intelligence reports that Hickock had managed to glean from his contacts. The sudden explosion of sound caught the admiral by surprise and he jumped slightly sending a few pages of the report he had been reading to the deck. Sharkey, who had been hovering nearby and had been almost as startled as the admiral, leaned to pick them up as Hickock looked at Morton with a raised eyebrow.

"Something you'd like to share with the class, Mr. Morton?" he asked. He could see that the wheels of thought were turning inside the younger man's head, but with a blink the XO of the Seaview brought himself back from wherever his thoughts had taken him.

It had been a full day now since Harriman Nelson and Lee Crane had disappeared. The limo in which they had been riding had been found in one of the less savory parts of town, stripped practically to the metal and useless for giving any clues as to where the two officers might be. Morton and Hickock, joined by Jules Pearson several hours later, had spent the last twenty four hours looking over every report that came in on the investigation and searching all the records they had on Pritchard looking for some clue. None of them had any doubts that it was Pritchard who had kidnapped their two friends.

Security tapes from the White House had shown them the face of the driver, a petty criminal with multiple convictions for theft and assault, but had yielded no further help. The man had not been found and it was assumed that he had simply gone with the kidnappers. Despite full involvement from the Washington DC Police Department, FBI, the ONI and the CIA, they had been unable to find the method by which the two men had been removed from the country.

The thousands of flights that left the east coast daily could not all be eliminated and it gave too many possible destinations for even the large investigative agencies to cover. It had been incredibly frustrating and made for a very long night that had turned into an equally long day. Pearson was currently in guest cabin C trying to get a couple hours sleep, while Hickock and Morton poured over the latest batch of reports. Hickock's source had not failed him, allowing them access to updates on the search almost as soon as they were received at ONI.

There had been some tension between Hickock and the new head of the Navy's investigation branch, Admiral Jones, but a swift reminder from Hickock that they were talking not only about two high ranking, and very high clearance, Naval officers but also the possible fate of the world had quickly cut through the animosity that Morton had been able to feel from Jones. Things were not friendly but at least they were getting the information. Not that it seemed to be helping any. Now, Morton looked at Hickock with a light in his eye that had been missing since the previous day when they had realized that Crane and Nelson had been kidnapped. He leaned forward, pushing the paperwork out of the way.

"If the admiral was in Pritchard's place where would he be hiding?" he asked.

Hickock frowned, not quite sure what the younger man was getting at. "I suppose he has his choice. He owns property all over the globe, or the Institute does. Hell, for that matter I guess he could take up in one of those undersea labs you boys got out there." Before he was finished Morton was shaking his head.

"But where is the most likely place that Nelson could hide that it would be difficult, if not impossible, for him to be caught or found?" He asked with more force. Hickock stared at him for a moment, puzzled at what Morton wanted him to say. He let his mind go over the places that Nelson could get to. Then it hit him like a bolt of lightening. The Seaview! Harry could retreat aboard this submarine, stocked with supplies and with his loyal officers and crew and disappear into the ocean depths, far below anywhere that other submarines could follow. Lord knew his ancestors had taken to the sea centuries earlier and he had no doubt that, should the need arise; a Nelson could once again take to the high seas for his life.

Morton saw the realization in Hickock's dark blue eyes and sat back in his chair, nodding. "And what does Pritchard have in common with the admiral?"

Hickock was also nodding, as was Sharkey who had continued to hover. "The Tantalus," Hickock said naming the innovative submarine that Pritchard had built for deep ocean mining.

The Seaview and her crew had encountered the Tantalus on two occasions, once to rescue the trapped crew, including Lee Crane and once only in passing as they once again retrieved their errant captain. The Tantalus was smaller than the Seaview but made of innovative hull plates that allowed her to go to nearly the same depths and, powered by a Nelson created nuclear reactor, prowl the seas at will. "You think that they are aboard the Tantalus?" The admiral asked.

Morton shrugged. "I don't know if they are now, but I can bet you that at some point they will _have_ to be. With the Tantalus they can row out from any shore and be picked up. It's the perfect get away vehicle. Everyone from our guys to the Chinese secret police are going to be searching for them, and eventually they'll be found. There are a finite number of places they can be. Someone will find them. Also, what better way to get the money? They can just have the gold, if that's what they ask for, dumped at a certain point in the ocean and go in and pick it up with the mining equipment. I don't know what the range is on those things, but they can stand off in the Tantalus and make sure it isn't a trap."

Hickock nodded slowly, seeing the logic. "I see what you mean."

"And," Chip continued, "it is a little harder to hide a submarine than it is to hide people. Lee said that he thought there was a weapon in her nose. I know that information was passed on to the powers that be. That, combined with the fact that she was last seen heading for a People's Republic port, means someone must have been monitoring her movements. If we can find out where she is now, I can bet you that Pritchard isn't too far away or they will lead us to him. The question is can we get the information?"

"Oh, we can get the information or I will know the reason why. We have the President's okay to access whatever we need on this." At Morton's surprised look, he smiled evilly. "You didn't think Jones was cooperating because he has a heart or anything, did you? He'd happily let Lee and Harry both rot in hell before he helped me with anything without a Presidential order." He waved that aside. "Let me get on the horn. Like you say someone was monitoring, I know that for a fact. But that was over a month ago, last I checked. If they don't have any current intel we can get some people looking for the last time she was seen." He rose and headed off toward the radio shack. Morton watched him go and turned to Sharkey who had given up any pretense of actually doing anything. He raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"Do you think we can find them, Sir?" Sharkey asked anxiously. The whole crew was angry about what had happened to the skipper and the admiral. The way they saw it, the White House should have taken better care of them. It was widely accepted among the crew that it would be up to them to find and rescue the two top officers - and every man aboard was ready to do so. No one moaned about missing liberty, no one complained about the endless hours of waiting as they tried to find some clue where to look.

Morton wanted badly to say that he was sure that finding the Tantalus would mean that they had found Nelson and Crane, but he couldn't look into Sharkey's sad eyes and lie. He shook his head. "I don't know, Chief. It just seems likely that Pritchard is going to have to take to the sea sometime or risk being found. I just hope that we can get to him before some of the other countries do. I don't think that they are going to care about the admiral and the captain being on board."

"That would be bad." The chief agreed. "What do we do if they are aboard?" he asked. "We can't just go in shooting."

"No, we can't. We'll just have to decide what to do when we find them." Morton said. He was not too happy with the idea of going in blind but, as long as they found his two friends, he didn't care where he had to go. All he needed was a clue and they were on their way.

Chapter 9-

Out of the corner of his eye Nelson saw Pritchard staring at Crane in astonishment. He had to school his features into a scowl to keep from smiling at Crane's tactic. It seemed the play was still the thing. He had seen Pritchard's motion and had been determined to give as good as he got, though he suspected it would not be just between the two of them.

Pritchard, his face still red with temper, snapped at the younger man. "You will do well to remember that you are expendable, Captain."

Crane remained calm in the face of the threat. He shrugged. "Fine, I consider myself warned. Now can we get on with this? I have things to do elsewhere and, frankly, I don't like the company." Ortiz made a comment in his native tongue and Crane replied in the same language. Ortiz sprang to his feet, drawing a pistol from under his jacket and pointing it at Crane's forehead. The captain merely stared at him. Pritchard stepped forward and pushed Ortiz's arm down.

"This is not the place," he said to Ortiz then turned to Crane. "You've had your fun, Captain, I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself. Henceforth any infractions will result in punishment of the nonparticipating party." Crane frowned slightly, understanding that Nelson would be punished for any trouble that he caused and so he shrugged again.

"It seems you need to warn Mr. Ortiz, or is it Ortega today? He's the one that seems to be…sensitive. Wouldn't think it of a man known as 'the Butcher', would you?" He couldn't stop the comment. He had planned to push them as much as he could without getting himself killed. While he was well aware that he was there to be used against Nelson, he did not think that Pritchard was prepared to have an actual murder performed in front of him. No deniability that way.

Crane had evaluated their cell and knew that if he could find the right item he would be able to pick the lock in a few minutes at the most. The problem would be doing it when they were not being watched. The only time he felt that would be was when Nelson was not there. He suspected that the reason for the observation was to glean any information that the two might speak of in supposed private. If Crane were to be there alone, there would be no reason to watch him.

He suspected that continued talks between Nelson and Houseman were not going to be particularly pleasant or even understandable by those not well versed in particle wave physics. Nelson had very firmly placed himself on the side of the planet, not willing to listen to Houseman's justifications or obfuscations about the effects of the waves. They would need to discuss the mechanism of wave production and its location in order to verify that they could duplicate what they had done. Crane knew Nelson would be doing everything he could to keep them from using the mechanisms again. The young captain had complete faith that Nelson would find a way to do just that. Whether that involved talking sense into Houseman, putting the fear of God into Pritchard, a combination of the two, or something completely different, he was confident that Nelson would work it out.

That left Crane free to work on something less important on a global scale but important to him, getting them out of here alive. He felt Nelson's silent support and it encouraged him to stay the course. He needed to be able to see what he was dealing with. He needed to get outside the cell without a guard. He needed to be returned to the cell while Nelson remained out here. He also needed a tool. The most likely place to find what he needed was the desk so he casually moved to sit in the chair that Ortiz had vacated. He put on a pleasant smile and raised an eyebrow.

Pritchard was half watching him with a puzzled expression, clearly thrown for an explanation as to the attitude. Ortiz was just barely in control and Crane felt a surge of satisfaction that he had managed to rattle the cool outer shell the man had been projecting. Ortiz was an animal and Crane was more than prepared to deal with him on his own level if necessary. The discussion began again between the scientists, in barely civil tones. Pritchard seemed to be acting as referee, something that Crane found quite amusing. He felt eyes upon him, a talent he had fostered over the years, and turned to find Lucinda Pritchard staring at him with hungry eyes.

He suddenly found himself fighting to keep the blush from creeping up his face or at least hoped that his complexion would not make it evident to the sharp eyes that studied him. He didn't want to show any weakness to this woman. Crane had been chased by aggressive women in the past, had even enjoyed it occasionally, but while they had made their intentions clear, there had been a limit to what they would do to bed him. Lucinda Pritchard had exceeded that limit the first time they met. He could still see her perched above him, digging her nails into his chest when he refused her. Now, he called on all his training to meet her eyes with no expression in his own or on his face.

She made a moue. "Oh, come now, Captain. Surely you aren't holding our last meeting against me. After all you got away with your… honor intact." She asked him flippantly. She lit another cigarette and sat back in her chair, crossing her legs. He guessed he was supposed to be impressed. He kept his eyes on hers. He didn't speak. She frowned.

"Don't be boorish." She pouted. She glanced at the group of men in the center of the room. Houseman was holding forth in stentorian tones, arms waving madly. Nelson was listening with a scowl, shaking his head at almost every point that Houseman made. Pritchard stood nearby, arms crossed on his chest. Ortiz, with an occasional black look over his shoulder at Crane, was hovering around the edge. "It seems our presence isn't required. Maybe we could go somewhere else and get …reacquainted."

"Pass," Crane said shortly. There was no way he was going anywhere with her. He had no doubt she would have him killed as quickly as Ortiz would do it himself. Crane had done many things over the course of his career with ONI that he was not particularly proud of but he had never taken advantage of a woman, or allowed himself to be taken advantage of, to get what he wanted. He was not going to start now. He let his eyes drift over the items that were on the desktop. He saw what he wanted right away. Now it was a question of getting it.

Lucinda rose to her feet and came to perch on the arm of Crane's chair. He leaned away from her. She reached out and ran a hand through his hair. He jerked his head away. Her hand followed and he grabbed her wrist and held her hand away from him. Their eyes met, hers laughing and….hungry, his hard and cold. She smiled slightly.

"I could make it worth your while," she suggested, dragging her arm away. Crane let her.

"No, no you couldn't," Crane said, hoping that he was making himself plain enough.

"I could also have the guards drag you," she said in a harder voice, obviously put out at his response.

"Surely you aren't that desperate. There's always Ortiz, or one of the guards." Crane would not normally make such comments to any woman, even a woman like Lucinda Pritchard, but times called for desperate measures, even distasteful ones. He rose to his feet and, in what could be seen as an effort to avoid the woman, stepped toward the desk.

Lucinda's face went white, then red. Crane noted a definite resemblance between father and daughter as the woman drew back a hand and slapped him across the face. He let his body move with the slap and fell back against the desk. The sound of the slap echoed around the room, and stopped the exposition that was underway nearby. All the other men turned to look at the two of them. Lucinda had jumped to her feet and stood, breathing heavily, her face contorted with fury. Crane sat looking at her calmly, the imprint of her hand on his cheek.

Nelson, who had been watching the two out of the corner of his eye as he listened to Houseman's rhetoric, had seen the slap and had to smother another smile. That had to be some sort of record, both of them slapped by the same woman within a few hours. He still had not divined exactly what Crane was up to but he was confident that whatever it was, it was for the benefit of both themselves and the world. Well familiar with the power behind that slap, Nelson noted that Crane seemed to be excessively unsteady on his feet, falling back against the desk as he did; another part of the plan no doubt.

Pritchard looked over at the two and swore under his breath. "You," he said, pointing at one of the guards who had drawn his gun and stepped forward. "Take the captain back to the cell. It seems that he's not quite ready for polite society." He glared at his daughter. "Why don't you go and take a cold shower or something?"

She turned a hard and angry look on him. "Maybe I'll just go out and sun myself like 'Betty' and her pet doctor," she said acidly. "After all, I'm just a poor stupid woman who has no head for these complicated male things. What with you men doing so well with it and all too."

"Lucinda…." Pritchard started, only to stop as she waved a hand.

"You get to have your fun, Daddy," she said with a pointed glance at Nelson. "Don't I get equal time, or is that not part of the great plan?"

Pritchard also glanced at Nelson and Crane, both of who were watching with interest. He wasn't about to let them see this. He motioned for the guard to take Crane out and went to stand over Lucinda. "We will discuss this at a later time," he said in a low voice and in a tone that left no room for argument. He met her eyes. "If you are so smart and so equal, then quit playing games and pay attention. Houseman's little secret is going to make this more difficult. Try for once in your life to be helpful. Otherwise I'll have Stavros take you back to the mainland and you can 'do your own thing' or what ever it is you want to do."

Lucinda stared back at him for a moment then gave a single nod. She still planned to 'have her way' with Crane, but she would wait until the rest of it was settled. After all, the money came first. Then the pleasure of breaking that arrogant wall that the captain seemed determined to present. She got what she wanted and she wanted Crane. But right now, she wanted the money more, time for Crane later.

Pritchard saw the acquiescence in his daughter's eyes and knew that it was simply a postponement of the issue, but for now he had what he wanted. He went back to where the others were waiting. Ortiz looked bored, Houseman puzzled and Nelson amused. He glared at Nelson.

"Okay gentlemen. I'm tired of the scientific bullshit. I want to know if these ceta waves will do what Nelson says," he said to Houseman. He turned his eyes to Nelson. "I also what to know what you need to see to know that we have what we say we have and can duplicate the effect. Those delegates are gathering in New York and we want to make sure that they make the right decision about how much money they are going to contribute to my… fund." He saw Nelson's eyes narrow and the amusement dropped away. Good, he had the man back on track.

Chapter 10

Chip Morton stood at the chart table, working out the next area he wanted to search. They had been able to track the Tantalus to the entry to the Mediterranean at Gibraltar, but from there no further contact had been reported. They were fairly certain that the boat had not left the small sea. There was definitely no record of them passing through the Suez Canal. They could have slipped through Gibraltar again and left the area without being seen, but Morton was gambling on them still being here.

Jules Pearson had turned his attention to any and all corporate or personal assets in any of the countries that had coastal access to, or were even within a day's drive of, the Mediterranean. As he found possible sites, he told Hickock who passed it on to mysterious friends who sent out teams to check on the property. So far they had been unsuccessful. Pearson reminded them that there were innumerable corporations and sub corporations that had sprung from Pritcorp, not counting those companies that the corporation had swallowed whole, and had not bothered to include on any balance sheets that made it to the government. As it was, the intensive search had added a few new indictable offenses to the list of crimes. Of course holding the world hostage made the rest pale in comparison.

Morton had wondered if they weren't duplicating the efforts of the various agencies that must be on Pritchard's trail. Pearson had given him a look over his glasses and had firmly let him know that he had more information on PritCorp and Pritchard than anyone else. Morton had backed off, knowing when to leave an expert to his work. So far he had no complaints about the performance of either of the older men. Pearson had dedicated himself to the project, ignoring the Seaview's fast departure from Norfolk and flank speed crossing of the Atlantic. Hickock had provided the intel, having tapped sources in the DOD and at ONI. He had even managed to get some still shots from the satellite that had caught the Tantalus at Gibraltar.

Morton had studied the pictures at length, paying special attention to the bow. That is where Crane had found the mystery machine. Hickock had pulled up the pictures that Crane had sent from the Tantalus and they had studied them also. Nelson had hazarded a few guesses on exactly what it was a month ago, but they had not had the time to make further inquires. Not being familiar with the Tantalus' hull design, Morton was at something of a disadvantage to spot anything that stood out as a possible weapon. But he had found some strange doors in the bow. Located in the same area that torpedo tubes would be on a warship, the doors were larger and oddly shaped. Morton could not help but think that they were there to deploy some sort of weapon. Nelson's guesses had been narrowed to two forms of weapon: microwave or sonic. There were inherent problems with the microwave when used at depth. The density of the water affected the microwave in ways that would have made it difficult if not impossible to use as an offensive weapon. It was more of an above-the-surface weapon.

The sonic weapon on the other hand would only become more effective at depth. A sonic blast would move faster and have more impact in the denser water. The machine that Crane had photographed had the potential to be such a machine. If that was so, then Morton had to be prepared to deal with it. As far as he knew there was no warship equipped with such a device, or that had been made with a defense against it. Morton was not a marine engineer, unlike Nelson or Crane. They understood the intricacies of hull design and what a hull could take. Morton had gotten his degree in electrical engineering with a subspecialty in computers and he had little insight as to the exact physics involved in a sonic weapon.

However, he was a diver and knew the possible fatal effects of an underwater explosion and he was a submarine officer and knew the damage that a nearby depth charge could do. If the explosion wasn't close enough to rip your hull open, the compression wave generated by the explosion might just do it; a compression wave such as could be duplicated by a sonic weapon. Morton had learned from years past that Nelson's hunches were right more often than not, and so he was prepared to assume that the weapon was sonic in nature. Now all he had to do was figure out how to defend against it.

There had been four firing buttons on the machine. That indicated to Chip that the machine could fire four bursts at a time and then there must be some sort of reset needed. That gave him something to work with. The Tantalus was smaller and more maneuverable than the Seaview. However she was not as fast and she could not dive to the depths the great gray submarine could. Morton would have to use that advantage should it come to the point of a fight. Of course that raised the question of what he could do offensively. If Crane and Nelson were aboard the Tantalus, any weapons that he fired on the boat could potentially kill his friends. But could he let that consideration stop him from taking action against the other boat?

If Pritchard was aboard and the alternative was to allow him to go free and hold the earth at ransom, he knew that the answer had to be 'no' and he knew that Nelson and Crane would be the first to order him not to hesitate. He had to think about the bigger picture, about the fate of the earth. In the course of his service aboard Seaview, especially since Crane had joined the boat, he had been faced several times - too many times - with the distasteful task of putting aside his own preferences and doing what duty demanded of him. He had been forced to put the good of the many ahead of the good of the few or, as it always seemed to happen, the good of the one. Lee Crane, the best friend he had ever had, one of the best officers that he had ever known, was too often the sacrifice and Chip knew that if it came down to it, he would once again have to chance that it would be his order that brought that much valued life to an end.

He shook off the grim thoughts of what could happen and decided to wait until they actually found the Tantalus before he started to worry about what might have to be done. He finished his outline of the next search area and handed it to O'Brien who looked it over and nodded his understanding. The lieutenant would be sure that the area was covered completely. They had brought all of the Seaview's formidable detection equipment to bear. They had found numerous sunken vessels, including two German U-boats and three English warships that had perhaps fallen prey to them before they had been destroyed. If it hadn't been for the seriousness of the situation, it would have been an interesting exercise. Searching for a hidden submarine in what amounted to an eons-old ship graveyard.

It had now been two days since Crane and Nelson had been kidnapped. There had been no contact from the kidnappers/blackmailers. There were government agents from just about every American intelligence agency looking for Pritchard. You had to admit that the man had planned his retreat well. As far as Morton was concerned he could have crawled into a hole and pulled it in after him if he hadn't decided to hold the world to ransom, or if he hadn't taken his friends. Morton felt a sharp pain in his hand, and realized he had snapped the pencil he had been holding in his hand in half. He threw out the pieces and looked up to find Sharkey watching him from about two feet away. He frowned at the chief, who ignored the temper and spoke as if he hadn't seen anything.

"Sir. We have a transmission from the White House. They are asking for you and Admiral Hickock. Should I have Sparks send it up to the nose?" He asked. The chief was well versed in ignoring officers' snits. He simply took it as a matter of course and moved on. At least he knew that he could count on these officers not to take it out on the ratings.

Morton nodded and reached for the mic. "Admiral Hickock to the control room, please." He announced over the intercom. "Thanks, Chief." He said and started forward. He caught the brief flare of disappointment in Sharkey's eyes, quickly snuffed. "I'll keep you updated, Chief, so you can let the crew know what's happening." He assured the chief and saw the gratitude in the other man's eyes.

"Thank you, sir." The chief said. "The crew will appreciate that. It'll keep the scuttlebutt to a minimum too." He added. Morton watched him go aft, with a small smile. The chief stopped to look over the shoulders of the crewmen on duty, making sure everything was going smoothly. Morton shook his head. The chief was one of the most loyal men he had ever met and he knew that the man desperately wanted to be in on everything that was going on with the senior officers but hid it behind the concern of the crew.

Hickock came through the aft hatch and, catching sight of Morton, headed toward the nose. He raised a bushy eyebrow. "What's up?" Morton had come to like the gruff admiral though he, like Nelson, blamed him for getting Lee involved with ONI.

He had belatedly remembered meeting the admiral before, though he hadn't been a full admiral at that time. He had been a newly created rear admiral and had taken over ONI, an agency that Chip had been only vaguely aware of to that point, only a year before. He had come to Groton, where Morton and Crane had been attending sub school. He still remembered his own surprise when he had entered the quarters that he shared with Crane to find a rear admiral perched one of the two desk chairs, while Crane stood before him at ease. One look from the high ranking man and he had excused himself, finding that he would rather eat alone that afternoon. Crane had not joined him for mess and later, after classes had refused to be drawn out about why a rear admiral was talking to him in their quarters. Chip had not connected any of the things that happened after that with the meeting.

It had only been years later, when he was working in the Pentagon that he had found out who the man was and what his friend had been doing. At that point he had been more impressed with the fact that Crane had found time out of a busy and demanding career in the regular Navy to work for ONI. It was only after Crane had joined him on the Seaview that he had come to realize the toll the job took on the younger man, and what it might cost his friends. It was somehow ironic that it was Crane's connection with another admiral altogether that might get his friend killed. In any event Morton had forgiven Hickock for getting Crane involved, suspecting that even if Crane had never done a single ONI mission, trouble would still have found him. Lord knew it didn't have any trouble finding the young captain on the Seaview. Chip had quite come to like the older man, appreciating his black humor and his drive.

"We have another transmission coming in from the White House." Morton said as he closed the crash doors.

Hickock snorted. "Hopefully it's something worthwhile this time. Hell, I don't think I spoke with them this much in all the years I was with ONI. If all they have is no news, they can keep it to themselves." He grumped. Morton smiled in agreement and then assumed his executive officer's mask as the President himself appeared on the screen.

"Ned, Commander Morton." He started. "We have gotten another transmission from Pritchard, beamed worldwide again. This time he didn't bother to hide his identity, so it looks like you were right about him having some connection on the inside. I have people working on that." He looked off camera. "They tell me that they have the tape set up, we'll play it for you. You'll see that there is at least some good news." He nodded to someone off camera, and his face was replaced on the screen by Pritchard's. Morton felt a surge of anger as he saw the man who had caused them nothing but misery over the past year. He forced it down and concentrated on what was being said. If there were any clues, he wanted to hear them. He was sure that Sparks was recording this; as was standard practice, but sometimes, initial impressions were the best ones.

On the screen Pritchard was speaking. "Now that all the mystery is gone, we can get down to serious business. I've given you enough time to get your delegates together and talk it over. Of course about now everyone is probably half convinced that we can't or won't duplicate what we have done. As you recall in our first broadcast we requested a liaison, someone from your side to verify what we have, and our ability to use it. As to our willingness," he paused, and smiled in a wolfish manner. "You'll just have to take our word that we are prepared to do what we said we would do." He looked to the side.

"Since we didn't want to deal with the security issues of allowing you to prepare Nelson and Crane for our meeting, we took that out of your hands. Nelson has had a chance to see what we have and talk to our scientists, and he's here now to tell you what he's found. And to quiet those people that will say that a prisoner has no choice but to say what his captors tell him to, well, you don't know Nelson very well." He made a motion with his hand, and the camera switched to a shot of Nelson, seated at a desk. The look he shot in the direction that Morton assumed Pritchard was said a lot. A small smile crossed his face as he realized that Pritchard was not getting from Nelson what he had expected to get and it was obviously frustrating the other man.

With his usual calm Nelson looked at the camera and began. "For those of you who do not know me, I am Admiral Harriman Nelson, US Navy, Retired. I also hold doctorates in physics and engineering. That information can be easily verified. What I cannot verify, despite Mr. Pritchard's humor, is my veracity. For that you have only my word. Some of you will understand the value of that. The rest will have to give it what consideration you will." He looked down and picked up some papers then looked back at the camera.

"Before I begin I would like to assure my friends and family that both I and Captain Crane are being treated relatively well. I am told that when they receive what they want we will be released." A glance to the side showed how much he believed that particular promise. He looked in another direction and a glint that his friends recognized as anger came into his eyes. He turned his attention back to the papers. "By now you should all be aware of the cause of the communications blackout that these people instituted. I know that our government had that information, and would have shared it with the rest of you. I am not going to explain the effects of ceta waves at this time, as it would be too complex for the limited time that I am to be allowed. Suffice it to say that continued bombardment by the waves will result in the end of our civilization, as we know it, and possibly the end of the human race.

"I have spoken at length with the man that created the weapons that produce the ceta waves. And I use the term weapon advisedly, for that is what they are, weapons held at the throat of the world like a knife. These machines are placed in satellites orbiting the Earth in a variety of orbits, satellites that were launched for vastly different reasons but with certain additions unbeknownst to their owners. My captors will not, of course, reveal the exact number of satellites, but the initial bombardment, and the effects it had on the ozone layer are sufficient evidence that they have more than enough satellites to do what they say they will, and to permanently damage the ozone layer in the process, leaving the Earth at the mercy of the cosmic radiation that it now stops.

"Your next question will almost certainly be why would these people do something that could mean the end of life as we know it when they would be affected as much as anyone else on the planet? It is against all logic. But greed and lust for power know no bounds. It is not logical, and it does not consider the final effect, only the current gratification. The lives of others mean nothing to these people. They are more than prepared to use the weapon again. To take the chance that I am lying or that by some quirk of science or nature they will be able to use the fruits of their extortion to buy their way out of extinction. I personally would not give the man a dime, preferring instead to locate and terminate his threat, but I understand that is a difficult decision, and one that the majority of the planet might not agree with." He picked up another piece of paper.

"My captors have instructed me to give you the following deadline for your decision. At twelve midnight tonight the Secretary General of the United Nations must broadcast his acceptance or refusal. If you chose to pay the ransom then they will contact you with a place and time for the money transfer to take place. They say they will give you a day to collect the necessary funds in the form of gold bullion. The amount of the ransom is 350 billion dollars, non-negotiable." With that the transmission stopped and the President was back on the screen.

"Like I said at least we know that Nelson was alive when the transmission was made. The experts say it wasn't taped, so that means he was alive less than an hour ago. Nelson says that Crane was alive as well, and I have a feeling that given the tone of his speech he was telling the truth."

Morton nodded. Nelson certainly hadn't been trying to curry favor with his captors, and he also knew that if something had happened to Crane, Nelson would have found a way to get the information out. He also would not have been looking so good. Morton had seen the effect of Crane's disappearance on the older man. If he were hurt or killed, he would have seen it in Nelson's eyes. "Sir, do you think that the delegates will vote to pay the ransom?" Morton was of two minds on the issue. Like Nelson he personally would much rather take the chance and try to locate Pritchard and neutralize the threat permanently. However they had to consider the rest of the planet. The other seven billion people on the Earth might prefer that they not take the chance, and pay the money. Unfortunately, Morton had the uneasy felling that whatever choice was made, Nelson and Crane would not be returning.

"I've got to admit Nelson's solution sounds good, but the reports from our delegate is that the majority are pushing for payment. We will of course continue to search for Pritchard, right up to the time the money is delivered, and after. I will not let this go without consequences. He might get his money, but he isn't going to enjoy it much if I can help it."

"And the Admiral and Captain Crane?" Morton asked.

The President shook his head and a sad look came over his face. "Nelson wasn't exactly encouraging there was he? I have no reason to doubt that his reading of the situation is incorrect. Our psychology boys say that Pritchard is more than capable of having both of them killed and would probably lie about it cheerfully right up to the time that he orders it done. He's a real piece of work. I understand that Seaview is in the Mediterranean. Do you think you have a lead?"

"We tracked Pritchard's submarine, the Tantalus, to this area." Hickock replied. "Morton here has a theory that if Pritchard isn't already aboard her, he will be before this is over. He'll be able to evade almost anyone in that boat. Once he gets his money he can disappear and there are still plenty of places that will welcome him with open arms, even after this, as long as he gives them enough money. With what he'll have, he can buy a small country somewhere. We're figuring that if he isn't on the boat then he has to be in the area. We're still searching for any assets that they have near here. If we can find the boat and he isn't onboard, we might be able to follow them to Pritchard. At least we know the timeline now. If he is only allowing two days until the pickup, then he'll want to be getting on his way to the appointed place. I can't see Pritchard trusting anyone else to pick up and deliver his ill-gotten gains. It would be too much of a temptation."

The President nodded. "Just keep us apprised of your success. As I said, we're still searching too, and if we can nip this in the bud before any money has to change hands, all the better. If you can give us a place, I'll send in some special forces. I don't think there are very many governments that will carp at the violation of their territory given the circumstances. Good hunting gentlemen." The screen went dark.

Hickock leaned back against the table, staring at the blank screen. "Harry seemed none the worse for wear. Not in a particularly good mood, but then who can blame him for that?" he observed. "Would have liked to seen Lee, but I don't suppose putting our minds at ease was high on Pritchard's list of things to do today. I didn't spot any clues that Harry might have gotten out, did you?"

Morton shook his head. "No. Everything seemed pretty straightforward. I imagine that they were watching him closely if it was a live broadcast." Hickock nodded in agreement. He seemed to be thinking of something for a moment then looked at Morton consideringly as if he was wondering if he should mention something. "What is it?" the XO asked.

"I have a theory about why Harry was so…cooperative, at least for him. Usually I would have counted on him to tell Pritchard what he could do with the whole deal." He stopped again. "Did you notice at the first, when Harry looked to the side? He got angry, angrier than he already was?" Morton nodded. He should have known that Hickock would have noticed the flare of anger too.

"I think that Crane was there, and I think they were doing something to make Harry cooperate, maybe holding a gun to his head, or a knife to his throat. He wouldn't lie about this to save his own life or Lee's, but he would cooperate to a point if he thought it would buy them and us more time. That might be why they were comfortable using a live feed and not tape." Morton could see the logic of it, but he hated to think of his friends being used in that way, and knew that Crane would hate being used against Nelson. He was about to answer when the intercom came on.

"Mr. Morton this is O'Brien, I think we got them, I think we found the Tantalus!"

Chapter 11

Once the door closed behind the guard Crane sat for a moment on his bed and considered what he would do next. In his hand was the large paper clip he had palmed from the desk when he had fallen against it. He had closely examined the hallways as the guard had escorted him back and had seen no cameras in evidence. Of course there could be hidden ones but he had the feeling that the security would be on the outside watching for interlopers, not on the inside, except in the cell. Allowing time for the guard to make his way back to the room they had just left, he rose to his feet and, grabbing the pillow off, Nelson's bed and using the one on his bed, he made a passable lump under the covers. Should anyone look in they might mistake it for Crane, though on close inspection it would of course not pass. He moved to the door, unbending the paperclip.

It took him just over a minute to pick the lock. He slowly opened the door, listening intently for the sound of anyone moving in the hall. Hearing nothing, he slipped out. He decided to avoid the direction they'd taken earlier and went to the left. He moved quietly, listening for any movement. The place was huge, with a lot of large rooms. He found two dining rooms, one formal and another more intimate, if you could call a table for twelve intimate. One large room that seemed to be for entertaining and a library complete with all the leather bound classical books. He noticed that each room on either side opened out onto wide white painted patios with a low wall. He would have liked to step out and get a look at what was beyond that wall, but he hesitated to do so least he appear on camera. An oblique look out the French doors of the library had shown him a camera mounted discretely on a light post and he watched as it scanned along the patio.

He had to hide twice as guards roamed past in the hallway, luckily not stopping to look into the rooms. He found a wide staircase leading down and followed it to another hallway. The rooms here were bedrooms, or more correctly, suites, eight of them, ornately furnished and large. He didn't linger in any one until he came to one that had an ornate map framed on the wall. It was an old map, not just a reproduction. It showed the entire Greek peninsula and the islands that dotted the sea around it. Markings on the map indicated shipping routes of ancient traders, with monsters and an angry Poseidon drawn in, the Aegean Sea.

Crane had been near enough to hear Pritchard's low words to his daughter. They rang again in his mind as he looked at the map "I can have Stavros take you back to the mainland." The 'mainland', as if they were on an island and Stavros, a good Greek name. There was more than a distinct possibility that they were on an island in the Aegean Sea. It made sense. Ari Onassis had had his own island, why wouldn't Pritchard want the same. He was obsessed with having more than anyone else, it seemed. It also made sense from the perspective of Pritchard's goal this time. No nosy neighbors, no intrusive governments and, if it was owned by one of the many sub corporations that PritCorp had spawned, very hard if not impossible to connect with Pritchard. Crane was willing to bet it even had its own landing strip so that the corporate jet could land there with no one knowing the comings and goings. It was all speculation, based on that map, but Crane was willing to bet it was the truth.

He left the bedroom and finished his survey of the lower floor. In the bathroom of one room he found a veritable pharmacopoeia of prescription drug bottles. He looked through them, finding two different very powerful sleeping pills and what he thought were weight loss drugs. He helped himself to several of each of the sleeping pills and, as an afterthought, some of the weight loss. It contained ephedrine and that was a natural stimulant. He didn't know when he might need an extra bit of energy. There were several empty bottles so he put his choices in one and put it in his pocket. He was coming out of the last room when he came face to face with a woman wearing only a very tiny bikini bottom. After a brief struggle he managed to raise his eyes to her face to find her smiling at him. She was a young woman, possibly in her late twenties, but in very good shape. She was also in no way embarrassed to find herself exposed in front of a strange man. She reached out a hand and put it on Crane's chest.

"Oh, you must be new. I haven't seen you before. I must say that security is very definitely improving. Do you speak English?" She said, her eyes running over the length of his body. He was relieved to realize that she thought he was one of the wandering guards. It seemed best to play along.

"I thought I heard something from the room, so I was just taking a quick look around." He said, affecting a Greek accent. With his dark hair and coloring he should be able to pass as a native.

She waved a hand holding a pair of designer sunglasses. "Don't worry about it. You can drop in anytime." She smiled at him again and, slipping around him, disappeared into the suite he had just left. He let out the breath he had been holding and continued down the hall.

He was at the base of a staircase that led up to the opposite end of the house from where he had come down. He would have liked to explore some more but he thought that might be pushing his luck. He also had been out of the room for nearly an hour. They might be bringing Nelson back at any time and he needed to be there. The last guard had simply opened the door and shoved him in. If Nelson's did the same they might not notice that he wasn't there. But he was willing to bet that the camera would be turned on not long after. He also assumed that they would be fed at some time.

He made his way back down the lower hallway, up the stairs and then back to the door to the room that acted as their cell. After seeing the rest of the house he realized that the room had to be constructed just for this purpose as all the other rooms opened out onto the patio and were considerably larger. He let himself back in the room and relocked the door. He put the pillows back where they had been and sat back on the bed, leaning against the wall. He had barely settled when the sound of the key in the lock echoed through the small room. Nelson was ushered in by one of the guards who cast a quick glance at Crane and then stepped out. Nelson watched the door close and before turning to look at Crane.

"Well, how was your chat with Houseman?" Crane asked. Knowing that Nelson would understand the reason behind it, he made sure his tone was one that was inappropriate when used to a superior officer or a friend.

Nelson flashed him a quick smile before turning toward the camera and sat on the bed opposite Crane. "Don't you think that attitude has gone on long enough, Captain?" He asked in a gruff voice. He pushed back so that he too was seated against the wall. "It is going to get either you or both of us killed and that will serve no purpose. Now, if you wish to be civil, we can discuss this like adults."

"Whatever you say, SIR." Crane drawled. However Nelson could see the interest in his eyes.

"Houseman is an ass and, worse, a mentally ill one." He began. "If that man was cleared by a doctor, that doctor needs to be stripped of his license to practice. He is delusional and paranoid and will not listen to any type of reason."

"I take that to mean he will not admit that ceta waves can destroy the ozone layer?" Crane questioned.

"No. He won't even admit outright that direct exposure can cause death. He still contends that it was the circumstances of the exposure that made the difference with his assistants. I talked until I was blue in the face, and it's like talking to a brick wall. At least Pritchard and the rest seem to believe me. I think they are finally seeing just how ill Houseman is. Not that I think it will make any difference."

"They'll go on with it then, even knowing what it can cause?" Crane asked in amazement.

Nelson smiled sadly, knowing that a man like Crane would never be able to truly understand the depths of moral degeneration to which Pritchard and his group had fallen, even with all he had seen as an ONI agent. "I'm afraid they will." He said. He leaned his head back against the wall. "They sent me back here when it became obvious that Houseman and I were never going to agree. We're invited to dinner within the hour by the way. All our _friends_ will be there." He smiled again at Crane's scowl.

"Yes, I'm afraid the dinner companions leave a lot to be desired. I am also told that I will be able to see the schematics for the ceta wave generators and some reports on their output capabilities. Once I go over everything they'll make another transmission to the world and give them a deadline for either agreeing to pay or taking their chances. It seems that their control room is not located in this building and Houseman had to go there to collect his papers. It can't be too far away however. Look how quickly they got him here earlier."

It was on the edge of what they wanted to say when there was the possibility that they were being observed, but it was information that Pritchard would expect them to exchange and Nelson felt safe mentioning it. Crane nodded. Nelson's sharp eyes noticed that Crane's hand was moving on the bed next to his thigh and saw that there seemed to be a rhythm to the movement, a rhythm he recognized. It was the code phrase that started ONI messages, the recognition signal. His eyes met Crane's and his own hand moved against the bed, out of sight of the camera, returning the proper code phrase. He rolled his head as if to loosen his neck muscles.

"I'm tired. I think I am still feeling the effects of whatever they gave us. Maybe some food would help too. How are you feeling?" He watched the slim fingers tapping on the bed as Crane considered his response. His curiosity rose as his mind put together the code words, Aegean, island, house, roaming, guards, no, camera, inside, others.

"I've felt better. Maybe you are right and all we need is some food." Crane finally said, his fingers stilling. Nelson nodded, signaling with his fingers that the message was received. They sat in silence for several minutes, Nelson considering the words that Crane had sent.

The young captain seemed to be saying that they were on an island in the Aegean Sea, in a house rather than some company building or institution. There were roving guards but no cameras on the inside and, if he understood the last word, there were others besides the people he had seen, possibly others besides the guards. Lucinda had mentioned something about a woman and a doctor. Since they had disappeared together, it made sense that Pritchard's wife would be here. Crane's words also gave Nelson an idea of what they were looking at as a prison.

An island, one of the many small islands that dotted the Aegean, with a large mansion on it. That both narrowed the possibilities and made their situation more difficult. Any escape would have to include a way off the island as well as out of the house. Obviously Crane had been outside their cell and had been able to move about somewhat at will. That meant they would be able to duplicate that part of the escape, but what then? Before they could think of themselves, they had to think about why they were here and what they could do to end the threat. Somewhere here on the island there had to be a control room of sorts, from which they could track and control the satellites. Nelson and Crane had to find it and destroy it, before they could leave.

Before Nelson could consider the problem further, the sound of a key could be heard in the lock. Both men looked that way as two guards came in and motioned for them to move out of the room. They followed and arrived in the smaller of the two dining rooms that Crane had found earlier. Pritchard, Lucinda, Houseman and Ortiz were already seated. The two officers were led to two seats at the other end of the table. Nelson couldn't hide a smile at their placement.

"Afraid we'll use a butter knife to attack you?" he asked Pritchard snidely. Pritchard frowned at him, not best pleased by Nelson's continuing insolence. It seemed the much-touted genius didn't have sense enough to know when he was beaten. Crane also was not responding as Pritchard had envisioned. If anything he was more arrogant than he had been during their previous meeting, and not the least bit intimidated by Ortiz, even given _their_ last meeting. It was time for them to know who was in charge.

A number of servers entered through the door, carrying large trays with several plates each. They began serving Pritchard and the others at the head of the table. Finally one server moved toward Nelson and Crane. He put a plate in front of Nelson and moved to do the same with Crane, when Pritchard spoke.

"The captain will not be dining tonight. Take it away." He ordered. The server looked questioningly at Crane then with a shrug put the plate back on the tray. Nelson lifted his plate and held it toward the server.

"I find I have no appetite. You can have this too." He said. The server started to take it but Pritchard spoke again.

"Eat it." He said quietly. Nelson turned cold blue eyes on him.

"If you are not going to allow Captain Crane to eat, then I will not be eating either." He said clearly.

"You will eat it, all of it, or I will have my men over there," Pritchard said and pointed to the two guards who were standing near the door, "hold Crane while Ortiz here takes out his antipathy. I can assure you that it won't be very pleasant for him or you. What's it going to be? We can always use a dinner show." Nelson glared at him, eyes narrowing as if to gauge his seriousness.

Pritchard was not pleased to note that Crane seemed to be as unmoved as if they were discussing someone else all together, or the weather. The golden eyes were locked on him, expressionless. As Pritchard watched, Crane broke eye contact with him and turned to look at Nelson. He spoke too quietly for those at the other end of the table. Whatever he said made Nelson break his glare at Pritchard and look at the younger man. The two stared at each other for a moment then Nelson put the plate back on the table. Without looking at Pritchard, he picked up his fork and began eating the appetizer.

Even with Nelson's capitulation, Pritchard found himself dissatisfied with the outcome. Nelson had given in, but it seemed more a victory for Crane than Pritchard. The captain was leaning back in his chair, his eyes once again on Pritchard. He didn't seem to be particularly put out about the circumstances. With a sniff Pritchard applied himself to his meal. Through the next three courses there was little talk. The servers came and went, bringing each course and removing the empty dishes. Pritchard kept his eyes from the other end of the table, uncomfortable with the steady gaze.

Nelson had to admit that the food was excellently prepared, but it might as well have been sawdust for all that it mattered to him. He knew why Crane had urged him to eat and it wasn't because of any fear on the young captain's part. If the situation had called for it, he knew Crane would have taken the beating. But as he had pointed out, it would have given Ortiz, and probably Pritchard as well, too much satisfaction and would gain them nothing if both went hungry. Crane had pointed out that he had gone longer without food and had survived. Ortiz's frustration would grow all the more at being denied the enjoyment and Pritchard would think he had gotten one up on them. He also had to admit that he was enjoying the discomfort that Crane's gaze seemed to be provoking.

When the last dish had been cleared away the servers brought brandy, setting a snifter in front of each person. Pritchard waved a magnanimous hand at the server who had bypassed Crane. "Go ahead and give one to the captain, wouldn't want to appear completely ungracious." The server complied but Crane ignored it as all the others except for Nelson picked up their snifter. "Now, now, Captain, let's not be petulant! Its very good brandy- Napoleon- from my cellar. Paid a pretty penny for it." Crane didn't move. Pritchard felt his temper rising as he noted Nelson's amusement. Out of the corner of his eye he could also see Lucinda's smirk at his lack of success in intimidating the two men. He had a sudden thought.

"All right, Captain. You've made your point. You aren't hungry and you don't drink with your enemies. Is that it? Well, let's see what you _do_ with your enemies, shall we?" He looked at Lucinda. "You wanted to spend a little quality time with the captain, didn't you? Well here's your chance. I would suggest using the cell."

"Now wait a minute..." Nelson started, only to stop as Crane's hand came down on his arm. Their eyes met again. Nelson could see the disquiet in the golden eyes, but he could also see the determination. He nodded slightly then looked back at Pritchard. "If you expect any cooperation on my part, Captain Crane is to be unharmed."

Lucinda had gotten to her feet and walked around the table to where Crane sat. She had a predatory gleam in her eyes. She reached out and ran a hand through Crane's dark hair. The younger man moved his head away from her hand. "Don't worry. I promise I won't harm a hair on his beautiful head." She nearly purred. "Unless of course he wants me to." She added. She gestured to the guards, who stepped forward. Crane cast an expressionless glance at Pritchard and rose to his feet. With a last look at Nelson he followed Lucinda out of the room, with the guards bringing up the rear.

Nelson watched them go, trying to keep the anger and disquiet he was feeling from showing on his face. He looked back at Pritchard. "Whatever it is you are trying to do, it won't work. My report to the world will be the truth and no threats, either to myself or Captain Crane, will change that. It would seem to me that it is in your best interest to keep us safe and unabused." He noted.

Pritchard raised an eyebrow and his brandy snifter, taking a drink and lighting a cigar before he answered. Nelson thought he saw a gleam of satisfaction in the man's eyes and knew he hadn't hidden his anxiety. It didn't really matter. Pritchard was more than aware how important Crane was to him and, even with the act they were putting on, there would be little use in trying to convince him that the underlying feelings had changed. It would be too suspicious. The tension was more natural and seemed to be enough to allow Lee more freedom. Nelson returned his mind to the present as Pritchard spoke.

"Oh, I'm sure that your captain will not be 'abused'. He's a big boy and Lucinda is a big girl, let them play their games while we 'adults' get on with what is important, such as your little message to the world. You'll be doing that tomorrow by the way, around noon. The good doctor here has brought his papers. Since I happen to know that your social calendar is empty, you should have time to look through them tonight. I'm sure with your much vaunted intelligence you'll have no problem." He said sarcastically.

Nelson stared at him dispassionately. He was sure that if Houseman had documented his work correctly, and there was no reason to suspect that he had neglected that part of his research, then there would be a rather large amount of paperwork, more than could be worked through in one night. Unintimidated by the task however, Nelson shrugged. "As you say, I should have no trouble finding what I need. The value of intelligence is in being able to look past the obvious to see the truth." He looked pointedly at Houseman. He was satisfied to see Pritchard flush.

"Be that as it may," He growled, stubbing out the cigar. "You will be ready tomorrow, noon, I think. That should give you sufficient time to discuss any details with Houseman." Nelson noted that the man in question seemed to getting tired of being spoken of and not to. He decided to stir the pot a little.

"_Doctor_ Houseman and I," he began, with a twisted emphasis on the title and leaving no doubt as to his feelings about the man, "have _nothing_ to say to each other. _If_ he has followed any sort of scientific method, and if he has not allowed his unnatural bias to color the _facts,_ then his notes should be more than sufficient."

Houseman sprang to his feet, his face red. He nearly screamed at Pritchard. "I do not have to take this from some….some… pompous psuedo-scientist. If he was everything that everyone says he is then he wouldn't be in the Navy," He said the last word with contempt. "He can no more understand my work than a worm can understand the dirt it crawls in. None of them can! You don't seem to understand that! This is as revolutionary as Einstein's Theory of Relativity. Do you think that anyone understood that at first? NO! We don't need him. Let the effect speak for itself. Another communications blackout will convince them…"

Nelson cut him off, on his own feet now, leaning over the table. "That you are a complete madman." He finished. "If you use those generators again you will damage the ozone layer to a point where skin cancer levels will rise astronomically. Radioactive mutations will increase exponentially in the reproductive cycles of almost all land animals. Only the hardiest plants will not be adversely affected, impacting crops around the world. Literally _millions_ more people will starve than are already starving. That is with ONE more use. After that things REALLY get serious." He changed his focus to Pritchard. "It is one thing to hold the world to ransom it is another to bring massive disaster to the whole globe. I can tell you that as focused as they are on locating you now, it will be nothing compared to what will happen if you allow this man to talk you into using the generators again. Now, they just want to stop you. If you take that final step, they will kill you out of hand, all of you."

Pritchard looked from the nearly foaming Houseman to the coolly focused Nelson and felt again the anger at the mess that had been made of his plans. He was sure now that Nelson was speaking the truth and Houseman was indeed a madman. It remained to him to find a way to walk the fine line between extorting money and making himself a target for every government on earth. He was confident that his security measures were sufficient to keep them shielded for now, but his bribes would mean nothing if they were to cause widespread destruction. Pritchard was well aware that money could only buy so much loyalty. He glanced at Ortiz who was looking from one scientist to the other, a speculative expression on his face.

"Why don't you take the good doctor to his room and make sure he stays there. You have the back up plan in place at the facility?" Pritchard asked Ortiz. The Latin man rose smoothly to his feet, nodding as he did so.

"Yes. I see now that you were right to suggest it. I made sure that the whole procedure was taped and his assistants are more than capable of duplicating the process." He cast a glance at Nelson. "In case the need arises."

Houseman was looking from one to the other. "What are you talking about? I want to go back to my lab. What do you mean you taped the procedure and that my assistants can duplicate it?" he demanded.

Pritchard looked at him coolly. "I think you understand, Doctor. Your services are no longer needed. I'm afraid we can't trust you near the equipment."

"No! This is my research. You promised that you would fund my research, give me a free hand. I have to get ready to start the direct exposure trials. You don't understand the possible implications..." Houseman was cut off as Ortiz took his arm and started dragging him toward the door. The doctor looked wildly around at Pritchard who had reseated himself, picking up his brandy snifter. "You promised me! You have to let me do my research!" He was practically screeching as Ortiz almost threw the man to the guard who opened the door and dragged Houseman into the hall with Ortiz following. The sound faded into the distance. Nelson settled back into his chair and they sat there at opposite ends of the table, studying each other. Silence reigned.

Chapter 12

Lee Crane was surprised when they didn't go back to the cell. Instead Lucinda Pritchard led them to one of the suites downstairs that Crane had visited earlier. She told the guards to wait outside and very firmly closed the door. Crane was reminded of the room in Costa Nuestra where she had ordered him tied to the bed. He noticed that the bed visible in the room off the sitting area had no posts to facilitate such a practice. At least on his feet he could dodge her advances. She sat on one of the couches and waved a languid hand at the small bar in the corner of the room.

"Why don't you pour us a drink? Maybe that will get you in the mood. I like scotch, straight up," she added suggestively. Crane almost laughed in her face but instead paced across the room He was pleased to note that there was no mirror behind the bar and the bar itself shielded his hands from her. He poured a measure of scotch into a glass and slipped his hand into his pocket, pretending to look through the available bottles as he did so.

He was glad that the bottle of pills didn't have a childproof cap, so that he was able to open it with one hand. He selected one of the pills by touch and pulled his hand out of his pocket. He was pleased to see that it was one of the sleeping pills. He laid it on the bar and picked up another glass. He sat it down on the pill with a thump and was rewarded by the pill breaking into small pieces. A slight grinding with the glass powdered it. He brushed the powder into his hand and dumped it in the scotch. He poured some tonic water in the second glass. He picked up the glass with the scotch, swirling the dark liquid until the small particles were dissolved. Perfect. He took the glasses and walked back to the sitting area, handing her the one with the scotch. Before he could turn and sit on the second couch, she reached out and took his glass out of his hand. She sipped it and then frowned, handing the glass back to him.

"Spoilsport." She pouted. He took the glass and went to the other couch. He sipped at the tonic water. Truth be told, he wasn't particularly hungry even though he hadn't eaten since the day before. He'd never thought THAT particular talent would come in handy. The alcohol he definitely didn't need on an empty stomach. He had been thirsty though, so even the slightly bitter tonic was good. They sat in silence for several minutes as they sipped at their drinks. Crane was pleased to note that she didn't seem to notice the taste of the pill, but then neither had he when Jamieson had used it on him in a cup of coffee the last time he had been on his feet for over thirty hours.

As she finished her drink, she put the empty glass aside and patted the sofa cushion at her side. "Surely I don't frighten you, Captain?" She asked. Crane finished his tonic water slowly then rose and walked to sit on the couch with her, though not as close as she had intended, he knew. He met her eyes.

"No, you don't frighten me." He said, noting that her eyes were appearing a little unfocused. If he recalled correctly, and it was all a little blurry even now, it had taken about ten minutes after he had drank the doctored coffee for him to be completely out of it. He had been running on adrenaline and little else, at the end of a hellish day and a half. She had been drinking, even before the scotch, so it should have about the same effect. He was alert to the impact that mixing the two could have and was prepared to deal with it if necessary. He wanted her out, not dead. She suddenly stood and pulled her short dress off over her head. The scraps of lace she was wearing didn't leave much to the imagination. She sat back down on the sofa, practically in his lap. She leaned toward him and he allowed her to place her hand on his thigh.

"You're a handsome man, Captain, surely you're used to women throwing themselves at you. But then maybe you like to do the persshuin" the last word was slurred and she swayed slightly. She didn't seem to notice. "You know, I could use a man like you. My father won't be around forever. And I'm going to be very, very risssh." She leaned closer, her hand moving up his thigh. He grabbed her hand and put it back in her own lap. She frowned at him, blinking slowly. He could tell she was almost out. Time to put a bit of a memory in her mind. He leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth, hard. Molding her to him with his hands. He felt her start to react then suddenly she went limp against him.

He stood, bringing her up with him. As he swept her into his arms, her head fell back over his arm. He deposited her on the bed and pulled a blanket over her. He paused to take her pulse. It was slow but steady and her breathing seemed to be unimpaired. Satisfied that he could leave her, he went to the French doors, which, as in the other rooms, opened onto a lower patio. He stood at the door and scanned the moonlit patio. There was a camera twenty feet away, scanning in an arc. The next camera, designed to overlap, was over forty feet away. He watched for several passes of the camera, getting to know their pattern. There was a chance; a narrow window of time when the two cameras were in such a position that he could squeeze through.

He glanced at the sleeping woman. If experience were any indication, she would be out until the morning. She had been very definite in her orders to the guards about not being disturbed and he had heard the lock click when she had closed the doors. Barring interference from her father or Ortiz, there should be no interruptions. He flipped the switch on the wall near the French doors and the lights went out, leaving the room in near darkness. He waited for the cameras to complete their cycle once again then slipped out of the room. He stayed next to the wall, in the shadow cast by the roof overhang as they made another cycle. He studied the patio and the pool area below. He could not take the chance of trying to cross that large space.

He worked his way down the patio to the end. It was a drop of about ten feet to the gardens below. There was an olive tree next to the wall that he should be able to use to get back up when the time came. He didn't know how long that would be. He intended to get a good idea of the lay of the land. He should be able to determine if they were indeed on an island and hopefully find out where the control facility was. He waited for the cameras to move again and then slipped over the edge. He landed with a shoulder roll in the grass below. He quickly moved into the shadow of the olive tree and scanned the garden. He could not see any obvious cameras but then they could have hidden them. He decided to keep off the paths that would be the most likely areas to be watched. He could see the ocean shining in the moonlight to his left, so he went that way.

Half an hour later he had checked over the large bay below the house. It was exactly what it appeared to be, a bay with a yacht at anchor. He could hear music coming from the boat and suspected that the other occupants of the house were spending the night there. Cameras watched the dock and beach but he was able to see that there was no reason to waste time avoiding them for a closer look. He was interested to find a road leading off toward the south end of the island and he jogged down it, keeping an eye out for any traffic, or further cameras. It didn't take him long to reach the south end of the island and a smaller bay that was the destination of the road. He had noted, as he ran, that the road had been well used and as he came into sight of the bay he had a suspicion he knew why.

He could see the topside of a small submersible. It wasn't the Niobe but it was built along the same lines as the small submersible that Pritchard had donated to a research institute where Greg Summers had worked, planning on using the mineralogist to scout out mineral deposits for Pritchard's ocean mining concerns under the guise of research and mapping. One such attempt had ended with Nelson almost being killed by Summers and his assistants to keep him from discovering what was going on.

He sat in some bushes overlooking the small bay and studied the scene below. There were cameras watching the dock and sweeping the small beach that edged the bay. He watched as two men, obviously just arrived on the submersible, finished unloading several boxes. From where he sat he could hear their voices clearly.

"Why did they send these up?" One man asked the other, setting a large box down under an awning on the dock. "They're supposed to be there in case of an emergency and they have to evacuate. What are they gonna do without these, breathe out of a beaker?"

The other guy snorted. "Those four-eyed freaks down there don't know their ass from a hole in the ground. The place could spring the mother of all leaks and they'd just sit there waiting for someone to point out the exit; geniuses, my ass." The first man laughed.

"I'll take them back when I go in the morning. They may not care but I gotta spend time down there and if push comes to shove, I wanna be able to breathe on the way up." He went back and dogged down the hatches. "Now since the bosses are finished for the day what say we go and get some of that ouzo? I kinda like that stuff."

The other guy shook his head and started for the old jeep parked at the end of the dock. "Tastes like licorice. Give me a beer any day over that funny foreign crap." The voices faded as the jeep started and the men drove off.

Crane watched the cameras. There was only one on the dock and the beach cameras did not overlap. It was a shoddy system, not something that Crane would have allowed, but he was glad enough to see it as it would allow him to access the dock. He took off his shoes, moved carefully down and entered the water beside the dock, moving along the side out of sight of the cameras. He came up even with the awning and dragged himself over the side when the opportunity presented itself. He was in the shadow of the awning, which blocked the camera, so he could move about some. He looked into the box the first man had placed there, lifting out one of the items and found what he expected, emergency breathing apparatus, not unlike those kept on submarines for use during emergency escapes. He hefted the apparatus and brought it into a small patch of moonlight. He was familiar with the units. They had a limited amount of air and this type was only effective to a depth of 300 ft at the most.

That meant that the control facility had to be in some sort of undersea structure. If they _were_ in the Aegean, with its clear waters, then it would have to be located below the photo zone where sunlight could penetrate and reveal the presence of a structure to those passing over it on the water or even to low flying aircraft. Given the time of year and the usual turbidity in the waters, he estimated that the facility could be at a depth of one to two hundred feet. He stood in the shadows for a long moment, pondering the significance of his discovery. This was going to make it harder to take out the facility.

He glanced at his watch. He had now been gone for over three hours. He needed to be getting back to the mansion. He took two of the units and dropped them into the water by the nearest piling. He then slipped into the water and went back to the shore. He put his shoes back on and started back down the road at a fast jog. Well, if nothing else this was allowing him to burn off some of the excess energy that had had no outlet for the last day and a half. As he ran he thought. He always found it easier to think while he exercised, that is when he wasn't trying to NOT think. More often than not, exercise was a stress reducer and so he usually tried to clear his mind rather than clutter it more. Now, he allowed the various facts to percolate through his mind as he ran.

He was pleased with the information he had gathered, but the information was only a means to an end. They had to stop the threat to the world. That was the only purpose they could have here. It was too easy to get caught up in the anger and contempt that he had for Pritchard, his daughter and Ortiz. He could not let Pritchard's personal vendetta against Nelson and all that was his divert him from their purpose here. He needed to approach this as he would an ONI assignment, stay focused on the goal and leave personalities out of it.

He approached the house cautiously, returning to the olive tree. He shimmied up the trunk and worked himself as high as he could in the branches. He was still short of the edge of the patio, but with a spring he was able to get his hands on the edge and pull himself up. The area he was in was dark and he did not hesitate to raise his head slightly above the edge, so that he could see the cameras. He had to hang there for several minutes, his toes finding small holds in the rough stucco of the wall. Finally the cameras were in the right position and he hauled himself over the edge.

He crouched there in the shadow for several minutes, regaining his breath and waiting for the next opportunity. When it came he went quickly to the doors and slipped inside. He stood for a moment, listening for any movement but there was none. Navigating in the faint light coming through the gauzy curtains, he went to the bathroom and turned on the light. The illumination fell across the bed and he could see the woman. The blanket he had covered her with was now thrown aside but she still appeared to be deeply asleep. He looked around the bathroom, catching sight of himself in the mirror. No one seeing him now would believe that he had been doing what she had brought him here for.

His clothes were wet and wrinkled and his hair had dried in its customary curls, which he had not suppressed with his usual severe grooming. He had salt rime dried on his skin. He turned on the taps in the bathtub, blocking the drain. He pulled off his clothes and put them in the water. He didn't have any soap but did his best to rinse the salt water out of them. He wrung them dry and laid them over the towel warmer that stood near the bathtub. He would have to deal with the wrinkles later. He then stepped into the glass-enclosed shower and washed himself. After a sniff at the liquid soap, which he could easily identify as having the same scent he had smelled from the woman, he used it liberally. That should cause some speculation. Once he was out he dried himself, wrapping another towel around his waist, and tried to tame his hair to some degree though, given what he was supposed to be doing, he didn't try too hard to make it perfect.

He was pleased to note that the towel warmer seemed to be making good headway on his clothes. He cleaned the bathroom using one of the towels, leaving it as he had found it. He hid the towel in the depths of the well-stuffed closet confident it would not be missed from the pile in the bathroom. Once his underclothes were dry he slipped back into them, adding the second towel to the hiding place. His shirt was nearly dry and his pants were coming along. He turned the shower on with only hot water and let the steam build up in the room. He hung the shirt from the door of the shower and hoped that the steam would take care of most of the wrinkles. Of course he didn't need to look perfect, in fact rumpled was probably what everyone would be expecting.

Finally he had everything done. He looked at his watch. It was almost two in the morning. He needed to see if he could get some sleep. A quick glance at the bed showed the woman was still deeply asleep, snoring a little now. He didn't even consider sharing the bed. He went to the larger of the two sofas and lay down on it. He set his mental clock to wake him in four hours, or at any sound from the bed.

It was just becoming light outside when he woke. A quick glance at his watch showed it was now approaching six o'clock and he was feeling better for the sleep. He looked into the bedroom, seeing the woman still unmoving. Sometime in the night she had probably passed from a drugged sleep into natural sleep. He got to his feet and went to the bar. He took two of the weight loss pills he had stolen out of his pocket and took them with some water. The stimulant shouldn't take long to kick in. He really didn't want to consider what Jamieson would say about him using such methods to keep himself going but, with little sleep and less food, he needed to take what steps he could. He also didn't want to mention that it was a somewhat common practice among other ONI agents who needed to stay alert without the narcotic kick of something like Benzedrine. He looked back at the bed and grimaced at what he had to do now. He retrieved his clothes from the bathroom, pleased with the results of his labors. They were clean and had just enough wrinkles. He artfully tossed them on the floor near the woman's side of the bed, adding Lucinda's dress to the pile. He then turned to the bed. His trepidation rose. He had to remind himself that he was doing this for a greater cause. For a moment his mind went to an old joke he had heard about Victorian British woman telling their daughters on their wedding nights to 'just close your eyes and think of England'.

He very gently removed the woman's remaining clothing, moving her carefully to avoid waking her. He could feel the blush rising in his face. He knew that the woman had little or no modesty, but his own was almost painful. He tossed the lacy bits into the pile of clothes and covered her again. He then went to the other side of the bed and settled beside her. He didn't remove the skivvies he had donned last night after they had dried. He could not go that far.

It was less than a half hour later when she began waking. She tossed around for a bit then moaned. She raised a hand to her head and swore. He took the opportunity to roll off the bed and stood with his back to it, fiddling with his skivvies as if he had just slipped them on. He turned to find her staring at him. He stared back. After several minutes of silence he went and picked up his pants. He could feel her eyes on him and knew she must be trying to remember what had taken place. He well remembered that one of the side effects of the pill was a form of amnesia encompassing the time just before you took it. Jamieson had assured him that the memories were still there but they were not going to be easy to access. He suspected that the alcohol would be enhancing that effect for her.

As he was pulling on his shirt, she sat up and reached for a cigarette on the side table. After she blew out the smoke she spoke. "Well now. That wasn't so bad was it?" Good, she was going to pretend that she remembered what had happened. In the end she would convince herself that she DID remember. Mental manipulation was almost as distasteful as disrobing her, but it had to be done. He looked at her over his shoulder and went back to buttoning his shirt. He heard her rise and come up behind him. Her hand ran down his back.

"Let's not be petulant now, Captain." She purred. "We're adults and we indulged a natural need." She stepped around him and leaned against his chest, he saw her draw in a breath and suspected that even with the cigarette she could smell her scent on him. She raised her lips towards his as if to kiss him. He pulled back.

"YOU indulged in a need. I did what I had to do. You made it clear what you would have your pet ape Ortiz do to Nelson if I said no. Hopefully my performance was 'adequate'. I did everything you asked me to." He sneered. It would make her happier to think that she had been able to force him to do what she wanted. He thought about what she'd been saying before she passed out. She was obviously anxious to step into Pritchard's shoes and he knew she enjoyed using the power her status gave her. He also wanted her to begin thinking that she was in control of Ortiz, though he knew that wasn't true. Ortiz wasn't the kind of man to be controlled by a woman. The more she tried to exert her control, the more conflict there would be between them. He could use that lust for power against her. ONI had trained him in psychological warfare as much as physical and he was going to put it to use.

He sat down to put on his shoes, ignoring the nude woman who settled near him smoking her cigarette. Obviously he had been right about her modesty. It didn't make him feel any better about it though. He finished tying his shoes, stood, and looked at her. "I'd like to go back to my cell now." He said dispassionately. She studied him and he suspected she was still trying to recall anything that had happened. He kept his face blank. Finally she frowned

"Spoilsport. It's even better in the morning, you know." She stubbed out her cigarette then rose to her feet. She came to lean against him, reaching to stroke his face. "There are certain rewards to doing what I want, you know…" She let it trail off suggestively, searching his face for some reaction. He didn't give her one

"Fine!" She declared, pushing away from him. "Have it your way for now." She waved at the door and started toward the bathroom. "The guards will take you back." She said dismissively. He had suspected that she would give it up quickly rather than have him refuse her. It wouldn't play into her power image. He went to the door and unlocked it. Two guards were seated on chairs in the hallway. They stood as he stepped out, their smirks saying everything. He glared at them and didn't say anything as they led him back upstairs to the cell. They opened the door and closed it behind him, but not before one made what had to be a crude comment to the other in Greek.

The language wasn't one that Crane was fluent in, though he knew enough to fake the accent believably. He was reminded that Nelson WAS fluent in it as he turned to find the older man sitting on his bed, his eyes moving from Crane to the door and back to Crane.

"So I guess your night was somewhat different from mine." Nelson observed with a raised eyebrow.

Chapter 13

Chip Morton ran his eyes over the duty stations, making sure that everyone was concentrating though he knew they were. They had been shadowing the Tantalus for just over three hours now. In that time the other boat had not changed her course. It was clear that she was heading for the northern Aegean. The question was, what were they up to and would it lead the Seaview to Nelson and Crane? Washington had reported that the latest message had prompted a new round of voting at the UN. It looked as if the governments were going to pay the ransom, though they were assured that no one had given up trying to trace Pritchard. It was only a matter of time until they were found, but even if they did locate the man, with what he held over the world, there was some doubt about what could be done.

At this point Morton was really past caring what was going on back in Washington. He was focused on getting Nelson and Crane back. Then they would take care of Pritchard once and for all. It was past time for that. He returned to the plotting table, studying the charts for the area. There were still too many places they could be going to make any concrete plans. If they only knew…His thoughts were interrupted by a whoop from the nose. He noticed out of the corner of his eyes that even the well-trained crewmen turned to see what had caused the unusual outburst, though they almost immediately turned their eyes back to their boards. He turned to the nose to find Jules Pearson nearly shouting into the phone.

"I owe you big time, Hercule! You need something you call and it's yours. I don't care when or where." He slammed the phone down and looked around at Morton who had moved up to stand nearby. He had never seen the older man so happy. "We got 'em, by God! We got 'em!" He said exultantly.

"You found them?" Morton said, his hopes rising. It was hard not to allow the excitement he was feeling out, but he called on his years of training to keep himself in check. They needed to be precise; calm; ready.

"I found them. WE found them." Pearson nearly crowed. He shook a paper at Morton. "Do you have a map of the Aegean with the islands on it, something with names?" He asked.

Morton led him back to the chart table, his mind whirling with possibilities. He was aware that there were many small privately held islands in the Aegean, such as that owned by the Onassis family. It made sense that Pritchard, who styled himself one of the richest men on the planet, would emulate Onassis and buy himself an island. It also made sense from a hideout standpoint. Some of the larger islands could have private landing strips, where even a jet the size of Pritchard's could land with no one the wiser. No one on the mainland would know if they were there or not and if there was anyone on the nearer islands, well, the super rich were known for protecting their privacy.

He pointed out the area on the map, identifying the compass points. Pearson moved back and forth over part of the map, then jabbed a finger at an isolated small dot of land at the far end of a chain of islands. "That's the one. That's where they have to be. My source says he's got a big mansion and a landing strip."

"And maybe a satellite control facility." Morton said. He grabbed a pencil and a ruler and extended the course that the Tantalus was on. It went right by the island. He looked at Pearson. "Looks like they have some plans to make a quick escape. What do you want to bet that the ransom will be dropped somewhere in the Mediterranean."

"No bet." The older man said, studying the map. "Well, obviously we can sneak up on them. But what about the Tantalus? Surely she'll notice us eventually. I seem to recall Harry mentioning something about a possible weapon. If they are indeed armed, what can we do?"

"We, sir? Will you be staying aboard?" Morton asked. Pearson had reported that he did not find the confines of the submarine particularly restful. Jamieson had given him a sleeping pill each night, but the man was not a submariner and Morton had expected him to leave as soon as he had lost the thrill of finding the island.

"Damn right I will. I can sleep some other time. This is once in a lifetime. Get to try out some of this stuff I hear about in the Institute rumor mill." Pearson declared stoutly. Then he cast a glance around the control room and took on a sheepish look. "I guess I should ask permission first. You may not want…..what's the term?…'supercargo' aboard when you go into a tense situation."

Morton smiled. "You're more than welcome to stay, Mr. Pearson. If we get into a….situation just stay out of everyone's way and hang on." Morton went back to studying the chart. He tapped the north side of the island. "There's a large, shallow bay here. The slope of the sea floor is pretty shallow out for almost a mile. It's not deep enough for the Tantalus to enter underwater without being visible to anyone above and I can't see them just pulling up to the dock and tying up like she was some yacht. The local fishermen would notice and there would be rumors." He moved his finger. "Now this bay is smaller and deeper. They could stand off at the entrance and land a raft easily. They do that at night and the sub stays at depth in the daytime, no one would ever know they were there."

"Forgive an old landlubber for what might seem like a stupid question, but shouldn't they have noticed you by now and is it really that easy to hide a submarine? Surely a vessel the size of the Seaview can not be invisible to them."

"Invisible, no, but hard to spot, yes." Chip said with another smile. "You have to understand that most vessels, even warships, have detection equipment to 'actively' watch for submarines, but it isn't used all the time. The ocean is very large. They have to be looking for it. If they have no idea we're here, then they aren't looking. I'm sure you've heard about Russian and American subs playing tag in the North Atlantic, one right on the tail of the other and the first not knowing they were there. It's a similar thing. Plus, the Tantalus isn't made for this. She's a research vessel primarily and her sonar and hydrophone operators are not trained like our men are."

"Mr. Morton!" The call came from Evers, a newer man, at sonar. "They're turning, sir. I think that they may have noticed us." There was a pause, then an excited exclamation. "They've gone active, sir. They've spotted us!"

Morton cast a quick glance at Pearson who started for the nose. "It seems all of our luck is not going to be good, Commander. I'll be up here." The older man said as he left. Morton was already reaching for the mic.

"This is the Exec, all hands prepare for maneuvering. The Tantalus has noticed us tagging along and is moving towards us. Her intentions are unknown, but we are not going to take any chances." He wanted the men to know what was going on. He knew they were ready for whatever came, but an alert and informed crew was more responsive. Lee Crane had shown him that.

He looked at their present position then turned to look at O'Brien. "Let's move out and away from these seamounts. They have too much of an advantage in maneuvering in close quarters. I want to be able to move if necessary." O'Brien acknowledged and ordered the boat moved.

"You think they are going to make a move on us?" Said a voice from behind Morton. He glanced over his shoulder at Hickock who had appeared from officer's country. The old admiral was in the nose, but his sharp eyes were watching everything.

"I just want to be ready. From what Lee said, Porter didn't exactly strike me as a captain that would take a chance and do a preemptive strike."

"I don't know who's in command of that boat, but it's not Porter." Hickock said, coming aft to the chart table. Morton looked at him in puzzlement. "I was just on with my man in Hong Kong. Guess who they pulled out of the Hong Kong harbor, a little worse for wear?"

"Porter?" Morton asked, though he knew the answer.

"Preliminary autopsy says he's been dead about a month. A single shot to the head and tossed into the harbor. He was either weighted down and then broke loose or something chewed him loose. He was missing a leg."

Morton felt slightly queasy, but forced it down. "Well, that rules out one possibility. Any idea who is in charge?"

"Seems likely that it is Williams, the former XO. Guess he's a piece of work, from what Lee said."

Morton leaned on the chart table and nodded. "Yeah, Lee told me how it was. After he mentioned it, I remembered that I met Williams once and it was one too many times. We were at the same class at Groton, a special session on computer imaging. The man was an ass. By the end of the class everyone from the instructor to the Gunny in charge of the mess wanted to kill him." He related. "Not exactly what I would call command material, and the Navy agreed with me it seems. He stalled out at Lt. Commander. If he's in command I can guarantee that the crew isn't happy."

He walked over and picked up the spare headphones at the sonar station. He watched and listened for several seconds. He then put the phones aside and headed back to the radio shack. "Sparks, try hailing them on the regular channels. Let's see if they'll talk." Sparks nodded and started calling the other sub. After several minutes and different frequencies Morton could see that he had gotten a response. Sparks killed his mic and looked around at Morton.

"I got them, sir. They say the captain is named Williams and, sir, I can't be sure but I would swear that the man on the radio is from the People's Republic, I recognize the accent." Sparks advised. Morton considered that for a moment and looked around as Hickock joined him.

"That would explain a few things. We know that a good portion of the original crew quit after the last cruise to People's Republic waters. He managed to mine a lot of ore out of that one spot, even after we caught him at it. A lot of money changed hands and you can bet that the People's Republic would be more than happy to get a crew on board her. All in the interest of helping out Pritchard, I'm sure." Morton didn't want to consider the implications of the People's Republic having access to a machine like the Tantalus, especially since she was armed. It was a complication that they didn't need. He went forward and picked up the mic at the chart table.

"This is Commander Morton of the USRN Seaview. We are operating under the auspices of the United States government. We are trying to locate the owner of your vessel. Is he aboard?" He shrugged at Hickock's amused look. It wasn't like they wouldn't know and beating around the bush wasn't going to gain them anything.

"This is Williams of the Tantalus. Stand off, Seaview." Came the reply in cold tones.

"It's you who are approaching us, Tantalus. Might I suggest that if you do not want our company, you return to your previous course? Is Jason Pritchard aboard?" Morton persisted.

"I remember you, Morton. Quit the regular Navy to become Nelson's little puppet and let him buy you rank in the reserves, just like Crane. Nelson deserves you two."

"Sounds like sour grapes to me, Williams. Seems I left the regular Navy at the same rank you did, but I'm now a full commander. All you're gaining is indictments. Maybe it's you that's been hanging with the wrong crowd. Of course so was Porter and look where it got him." Morton taunted in kind, wanting to discover if Williams knew what had happened to the former captain. It wasn't regular radio protocol, but there were few things about this whole situation that were regular. "You know why we're here and stonewalling will get you nothing but a shadow wherever you go. Now, are you going to play nice, or do we play 'I love a parade" all over the Med?"

"I don't want you on my six, Morton! You keep poking your nose into things that don't concern you and you'll get it slapped."

"I don't see anyone out here big enough to do that job, Tantalus. Now I repeat, is Jason Pritchard aboard?" There was no response and Sparks leaned back in his chair to look at Morton.

"No more signal, sir. They cut it off from their end. Do you want me to try them again?"

"No. I think we've said what we need to say." Morton said and looked at Hickock. "My best guess is that Pritchard isn't aboard, but they WERE going to get him, or to make the pickup when the ransom is dropped. They can't afford to have us following them around in either case."

Hickock nodded, agreeing with Morton's reading on the situation. "The question is, which one? I really don't see Pritchard trusting anyone to pick up that money without being there. Paranoia is a survival tactic for him now and I don't think he's going to miss a step."

Morton nodded. He walked back to the radio shack. "Keep an ear out for any transmissions. If they try to call for instructions I want to know what they say and I want a triangulation on the reply." Sparks nodded. He had already been monitoring the airwaves. Morton wandered thoughtfully forward to the sonar station. He looked at the scope and noted that the Tantalus had slowed.

"I have doors opening, sir! Almost like torpedo hatches but slightly bigger, I would say!" Patterson reported from hydrophone, one hand to his earphones. Morton spun on his heel.

"Battle stations, Mr. O'Brien. I have the con." O'Brien hit the battle stations claxon and grabbed a mic. The alert was soon heard over the intercom. "Load torpedo tubes two and four. Open the outer doors."

"Load two and four, open outer doors, aye, sir." O'Brien echoed.

"Sir, I'll have to ask you to go forward." Morton said to Hickock who nodded and retreated to the nose, watching as the men moved like a well-oiled machine. Harry's boys were well trained. Not that he had expected anything less with Lee Crane as the captain but this was a perspective he hadn't had before. He sat down at the table, exchanging glances with Pearson. He noted that the man seemed to have thrown off the effects of the claustrophobia that had been plaguing him. Evidently the adrenaline was flowing in the other man as well.

They waited for several long minutes, Evers and O'Brien hanging on every nuance of the Sonar signal. Finally it came. Evers gave a startled exclamation and O'Brien dropped the spare headset. "They're moving, coming in at half speed."

"Helm, hard to starboard, half speed. I want to keep a constant distance from them. Let them show us what they got." Morton ordered. In the next several minutes they made numerous course and speed changes, keeping at the same distance. Morton imagined that Williams would be finding it frustrating. Then there was a call from William Chance at the magnetometer.

"Mr. O'Brien. I'm reading a massive energy buildup from the other submarine, I think they must be charging something." He called out. Morton was reaching for the mic to warn the crew when there was a sudden 'whoomp' sound and the Seaview heeled over to port. Everyone went with her, and slamming against her bulkhead. Morton was scrambling for the chart table as soon as he could make his feet. O'Brien was already calling damage control for reports.

"Helm, hard over. Bring us around on 030, full speed. O'Brien bring us around on her six. Her weapons are oriented to fire bow on only. Remember she's more maneuverable than we are. We're going to have to use our speed." He looked at the torpedo station. The telltales had gone red. He grabbed the mic. "Missile room! What is the status on torpedoes? I need those fish, now."

"Two minutes, sir," came Sharkey's voice calmly. As the chief finished, Chance spoke again.

"They're building another charge!" Chance nearly yelled.

"Bring us around to 120, flank speed, two degrees down bubble." Morton snapped. The helm was responding as O'Brien echoed the order and just before the 'whomp' sounded again. The sub tossed to starboard and the lights went out.

Chapter 14

Nelson leaned back against the wall and watched as Crane made himself comfortable on the other bed. The young captain was looking somewhat worse for wear but didn't seem to be injured in any way, always a consideration with the younger man. The admiral had also noted that there was a certain scent, one he recognized as a type that Edith had used. One he had noted on Lucinda Pritchard the day before. Nelson had ignored the snarled response to his innocent question, seeing the satisfied gleam in the golden eyes that had nothing to do with what anyone else might have thought went on the night before. He had been worried but knew that the whole thing was somehow working along with Crane's plan. He wished that they could talk without being overheard. There was information that he wanted to share and he was definitely interested in what had gone on with Lucinda Pritchard. However, he knew that it would not be here, not under these conditions. The code was too cumbersome to pass on the information they both had. He eyed the light fixture speculatively. He was sure that Crane was right and they were being monitored. He had seen the set up in Pritchard's office.

He had spent much of the previous night working through the box of papers that the guards had deposited in their cell. He had found pretty much what he had expected to find. Houseman had documented his research in minute detail, including the construction of the generators that were in the satellites. Nelson had vaguely hoped there would be something, some kind of mistake that he could seize upon that would give them some hope that the first two incidents were a fluke, that they would not be able to duplicate the previous effect. There had been no such mistake. Despite his prodding of Houseman the previous evening, the man had created a fascinating machine. If only he hadn't turned it to such a use.

He had found some hope however. About three hours after he started, he had found the plans for the control room. In infinite detail, there were plans for each board with detailed instructions regarding their use. With these he could easily map out the best way to destroy any ability to control the generators. He wasn't sure if it was stupidity, ignorance, or arrogance that had led these pages to be included, but he was grateful for whichever it was. He also had a list, though incomplete he suspected, of the satellites that carried the generators. He committed that particular page to memory, his own odd trick learned after a lifetime of memorizing formulae and equations. They would be able to match this list with the list from the records seized from Sacher Technology and could possibly find a pattern. Knowing the space requirements it would at least narrow down the possible additions to the list.

He heard a key in the lock and stood up. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Crane also stand. The door opened to reveal one of the guards, holding a tray with one plate and a cup of what smelled like coffee. Another guard stood behind him with a gun in his hand. They were obviously not taking any chances. Nelson instantly knew that the tray was for him and that Crane was still being excluded. He shook his head.

"Take it away. If Captain Crane isn't eating, neither am I." He didn't look at Crane, but he heard the low protest from behind.

The second guard stepped forward, raising his gun and pointing it at Crane. The first guard smirked at Nelson. "You don't eat, we get to shoot your pretty friend here, our choice where, as long as he's alive." He said with a thick Greek accent. The second guard made a crude suggestion in Greek and said something about disappointing the woman that Nelson didn't quite catch, but which made the first guard laugh. "Your choice. We will wait while you eat." He shoved the tray at Nelson. With a glare, the admiral took it and went to sit on his bed. He would rather have thrown it in their faces, but he knew they would not hesitate to follow their orders if he did so. Across the cell, Crane had sat down and was staring at the guards with a contemplative look in his eyes. His face, however, was as expressionless as if he had not just been insulted and threatened.

The two guards conversed in Greek as Nelson ate, continuing to make crude references. Nelson continued his glare, though it seemed to have little effect. He knew that Crane was not fluent in Greek but the young man had an amazing mind for languages and Nelson was sure that he had picked up a working knowledge of the language, at least in the rougher form as was used in the world that ONI forced Lee to inhabit on a regular basis. As little as the captain's expression gave away, everything was going right past him but Nelson saw the occasional flare of anger in the golden eyes. He finished the meal and rising, thrust the tray back at the first guard. With a last smirk at Crane the two men left.

"Sorry, Lee" Nelson said. Crane turned his eyes, which had been locked on the door, to him and Nelson saw the spark mischievousness flare. He had to stop a smile as he realized that the game was about to commence again.

"Oh, you're sorry." Crane said, standing to walk across and stand in front of Nelson. His tone was decidedly NOT appreciative. "Well, THAT makes everything better, doesn't it?" He flung his arms out dramatically. "The WORLD is all better because Nelson is sorry. It doesn't matter what I have to do as long as you can be sorry for it."

"Lee..." Nelson started only to be cut off.

"What did YOU get to do last night after your three course meal and your brandy, and what… a Cuban cigar, Admiral?" He walked over and kicked the box of files. "A little reading to verify what we already know? Gee. I hope you didn't have to stay up too late." Crane's eyes seemed to be asking a question. Nelson saw that Crane was still prodding the box with his foot and suspected that the young captain wanted to know if he had gotten anything of value.

"As a matter of fact, Captain." Nelson said his tone frosty, "after being FORCED to eat and drink in order to keep you from being beaten, I did go through the records. They have the technology they say they have. I was able to glean quite a lot of information out of those records and it took me most of the night." Nelson hoped that Crane could read the intent behind his seemingly innocent answer. He must have because the younger man reached down, grabbed the box and with a heave of his deceptively slim shoulders threw it across the room, scattering papers everywhere. When he spoke he was yelling

"Well that's too bad you missed your beauty sleep. You know what I had to do? I had to…." He stopped and took a deep breath, supposedly trying to rein in his temper. Nelson knew that the anger was an act. When Crane was angry he got quiet and the angrier he was, the quieter he got. THIS was all show. "Well, I'll just leave it to your imagination. But I can tell you this, I am not gonna take much more of this. If these people want to keep playing their mind games, their sex games, and their little behind the scenes money grabs and power plays, then they'll do it without me. I don't care how much you preach the nonviolent solution." His eyes scanned Nelson's bed and he bent to pick up the lighter that lay there next to the pack of cigarettes. Nelson had managed to promote them from one of his guards the previous evening. Crane bent and scooped up one of the file folders that was scattered at his feet.

"Lee." Nelson warned, only to be ignored. Crane thumbed the lighter and then caught the edge of the folder on fire. The thick paper burned slowly at first, but started to catch. "Lee, put that out. That's an order." He demanded. Crane, his back now to the camera, cast him a smile. With the smoldering file in his hands he started kicking a bunch of the papers into a pile against the wall. He was lowering the slowly burning file to the pile when the door was wrenched open and three guards rushed in. Guns were pointed at both men.

"Put the paper out." One guard demanded, thumbing back the hammer on his gun. Crane stared at him a moment, long enough to make Nelson nervous, then dropped the file. Being Lee, he dropped it in the pile of paper he had kicked together. The guards swore and the man who had first spoken leapt forward and stamped out the growing flames. He turned his gun on Crane, pointing it between the young captain's eyes. Crane didn't blink.

"Put it down." Came an unmistakable order from the doorway. Ortiz stood there, obviously having just arrived. He was wearing only his slacks and shoes, his hair mussed. He looked around the room at the scattered papers and then at Crane who was staring at him defiantly. He jerked his head at the guards. "Lock them in one of the bedrooms with no patio access then get someone in here to pick up all of these papers. We'll talk about why the papers are still here later."

The guards motioned for Nelson and Crane to step out, which they did. Crane made a point of brushing past Ortiz, and was satisfied when he heard the man take a deep breath. It seemed that scented soap was going to have a benefit. He let a small, satisfied smile quirk his lips as he looked back at Ortiz, who was scowling after them. The guard led them down the stairs to one of the suites. Nelson studied what he could see of the house as they went. He was interested to note another man that he recalled being a guard stepping out of one of the rooms, a tray in his hands and locking the door behind him. Nelson suspected that was where Houseman was being kept. But he really wasn't thinking about that. It seemed he and Crane were going to have that opportunity to talk. They were shoved none too gently into a room with a small sitting area and a large bed. There was a picture window looking out over the ocean offering a very nice view, but neither man looked at it. They waited until the door had closed behind the guards and looked at each other.

"I take it that you have some information to share?" Nelson said sarcastically. Crane cast him a smile and prowled around the room. He hadn't been in this one. Nelson went to sit on the sofa and watched Crane. The captain soon joined him on the sofa and he smiled again.

"Sorry for the theatrics. It was all I could think of. I take it you got what you needed from the papers?" The younger man asked.

Nelson nodded. "I did. In fact I think I got more than they might have wanted me to. Houseman, as crazy as he is, documented everything including the control boards and a listing of the satellites that had the generators installed, at least up to a certain date." He continued giving Crane the rundown of what he had found and the results of his talk with Houseman the day before, being as concise as possible since he knew they might not have much time. When he finished he leaned back against the pillows. "I take it you managed to collect a little information yourself?" He was curious about what had happened with Lucinda Pritchard but he wasn't going to ask that question. It was important but there were other things that they had to focus on now.

Crane leaned forward and began telling Nelson about the house, the island, and what he had discovered at the other bay. Nelson nodded as he related what he had surmised about the control facility.

"Very good, Lee." Nelson said, pleased with the information. "Now we have to find a way to get there and destroy the controls. If we do it right, they won't be able to control the generators. With the list we'll be able to disable most if not all of them over time, making sure that no one else ever does." He told Crane what needed to be destroyed in case they were separated. Nelson knew that it was understood that one of them had to succeed in reaching the facility.

"What about this live feed? Do you think you can work in any clues for Chip and the others?" Crane asked.

Nelson shook his head. "No, they won't allow that. Given what's happened so far I suspect that they'll threaten you to insure that I follow their instructions to the letter."

Crane looked at him seriously. "It may come to a point where you're going to have to make a decision. Do what you have to do." It was simple enough but Nelson shook his head again.

"I will not sacrifice you to save myself." He said firmly, ignoring Crane's frown "And _unnecessary_ self sacrifice is not going to help our cause. Either of us can now do what has to be done but with two of us working on it, we are more likely to succeed." He waved the thought away. "In any event Pritchard is certainly not going to let us go after this. We have to get away or we'll BOTH end up dead." He looked at his watch. They had been here almost 20 minutes. They probably didn't have much more time.

"I believe that the representatives in Washington will vote to pay the demand. They will only give them one day to collect the funds and arrange to deliver them. I think we should do whatever we are going to do tonight. You've proven that we cannot only get out of the cell but also out of the house. After midnight, when everyone is asleep and the guards are less alert, we'll go then."

"You have a plan?" Crane asked.

"It's not so much a plan as an idea. A plan would require a little more information." Nelson said. "If we can get out of here without being detected, we'll go to the south end and use their own DSV if it's there. If it's not, well, we'll have to improvise something. The emergency air tanks won't have enough air to be any good on our own. We know it can't be too far off shore, since it took only a short time for them to retrieve Houseman. Did you see any regular diving tanks there?"

"No, sir." Crane reported.

"That's going to be a determining factor. But since they have decided that Houseman will not be allowed access to the facility, I am assuming that they would want to be able to get there without waiting for the sub to come up. It is more likely that they would keep it here rather than there."

Crane nodded his agreement and looked at the window. He had noticed when he first looked out that the yacht was gone. Evidently Pritchard had sent the others away. He could see the ocean and his mind turned to his gray lady and the men who sailed her. "Do you think they have any chance of knowing where we are?" he asked, knowing that Nelson would understand who he meant. It would be nice to know that some backup was on the way.

Nelson shrugged. "I know that Chip and Ned will be using any and all resources to find us, as will the various governments. But it seems that Pritchard has covered his tracks very well, bribed just the right people. But with this new development that we've revealed to him, he is probably feeling less sure of the effectiveness of those bribes. Extorting money is one thing, destroying the planet is another. He almost certainly has had to revise his plans and I am willing to bet that means that he has made plans to leave sooner than he meant to. I'm willing to bet that if the Tantalus isn't here, it will be soon."

"Chip might have thought of that." Crane suggested. "He knew that Pritchard had the boat and that it would be not only a good way to collect the money, but also a good getaway. If they located the Tantalus and followed her, they could be close." He frowned. "What about that weapon? The one I found on the Tantalus. Do you think it is a sonic gun?" He had every faith in Chip, and his crew, but they had never dealt with a weapon of that sort.

Nelson nodded again. "Yes. I believe, given what you were able to photograph, that it is a sonic weapon. If it is done correctly and has enough power, they can be a serious threat. With the reactor they have aboard they have more than enough power and they are more maneuverable than the Seaview. However, with our higher speeds and greater depth we will have some advantage. Also, I have full faith in Chip and the crew."

"So do I." Crane agreed, but Nelson knew that he would rather be at her helm than here. There was the real possibility that he might never return. Nelson reflected that to Crane _that_ might just be a 'fate worse than death', permanent and final separation from his submarine. He reached over and patted the closest knee.

"We're going to make it, Lee. I know it might sound trite but we're better than these people. I will not allow myself, or you, or the world for that matter, to be victimized by these moral degenerates who think they have the right to manipulate those around them to their own satisfaction and betterment, with complete disregard for consequences. I cannot begin to tell you the anger that this whole thing has caused in me. I can't help but think that if I hadn't been so….reluctant to strike back, to respond in kind to Pritchard's efforts to ruin me and the Institute, then this would have never happened.

"Perhaps that is what makes me truly angry, that not only have I brought this on myself and you, but on the world as well." He held up a hand as Crane would have protested. "No, Lee, you can deny it if you want but I know that you would have handled the whole thing differently if you had not been catering to the ego of an old man. I was complacent in my moral superiority. Sure that I would be able to overcome anything that a man like Pritchard could throw at me. What I seem to have forgotten is that he wasn't only aiming at me. I made the decision for you and it seems for the world as well. Now I have to step up and meet that obligation. I will NOT allow this man and his deviant followers to endanger this planet anymore than they have already. We are going to put an end to this."

Crane met his eyes, and simply nodded. Nelson felt his heart swell for moment, amazed that he could have been so fortunate as to somehow earn the loyalty and support of this remarkable young man. Perhaps if Pritchard had been as fortunate in his family, he would not have felt himself so lacking in wealth that he had to hold the world to 's ruminations were broken by the sound of the door opening. Three guards were there, motioning for them to move out. The two men exchanged one last look, in affirmation of their shared goal, and went back to their cell.

Chapter 15

Jason Pritchard III threw the crystal paperweight that had rested on the desk across the room, ignoring the sound as it shattered against the wall. As he turned in his chair his eyes fell on the monitor that showed the cell where Nelson and Crane were locked up. They had been brought back almost two hours earlier but had simply retreated to their beds in silence, a very definite change from earlier.

He had been watching when Crane had been taken back to the cell from Lucinda's room. He had been interested to see exactly what the effect of that particular 'punishment' would be. His daughter had been uncharacteristically silent on what precisely had happened in Costa Nuestra between her and the captain, but Pritchard knew from various sources that the young man had refused her and had escaped before any further persuasion could be applied. Since Crane couldn't escape her last night, he suspected Lucinda had pressed her advantage.

He didn't know where his daughter's obsession with sex came from, but she had better remember that they were after a particular goal and that did not include scoring a certain submarine captain. Pritchard had thrown Crane to her like a bone to a dog to see the effect on Nelson but had been disappointed when, after a short flare of anger, the man had simply settled down to drink his brandy and meet Pritchard's stare with one of his own. Things were simply not going as he had planned.

What had started off as a good plan, with a better than average chance to succeed beyond his wildest dreams, had all seemed to go to hell after he had kidnapped Nelson and Crane. That had seemed like the best idea at the time. It kept him in control and the rest of the world off guard. Instead of waiting for them to come to him, he had simply taken what he wanted. It gave him the position of power.

Then Nelson had revealed that Houseman was some kind of mad scientist who ignored the deadly consequences of his invention in order to gain funds to promote his research. Nelson had pulled no punches, going after Houseman with facts and figures that had been way beyond Pritchard's understanding. When Nelson had condescended to use small enough words, he had made it clear that only a madman would use the generators again and made equally plain his contempt for Pritchard. That had been part of what was so dissatisfying in this whole thing. Along with the chance to make more money than they could count, and gain an unimaginable level of power, he had been looking forward to seeing Nelson come to realize that Pritchard had won.

Instead, he had been faced with Nelson's contempt and Crane's seeming indifference. There was little about the two men that spoke of the kind of fear that Pritchard had expected. He knew Nelson and Crane both understood that they were not going to survive their captivity. He had counted on that fear to break down what he saw as Nelson's refusal to accept Pritchard's supremacy and Crane's arrogance. Instead they seemed to have multiplied. Even his tactic of keeping Crane hungry had been accepted by the younger man. Oh, there had been signs of anger, but that appeared to be aimed at Nelson as much as Pritchard, Lucinda and Ortiz. Pritchard had installed the camera in the cell sure that the two men would be colluding at any given opportunity, trying to figure out ways to defeat him, but instead he had witnessed only arguing and, like this morning, an almost petulant disregard for their circumstances.

He had been amused as Crane, looking a little the worse for wear, had snapped at Nelson earlier when he had been brought back to the cell. Nelson had obviously not wanted to question the younger man, seeing his mood. When the guards had brought the food, and denied Crane once again, it had seemed to be the final straw. Crane had literally thrown a fit worthy of any Prima Donna, throwing the papers around the cell. In fact he had made a few comments that were quite interesting, including a reference to certain power and money grabs going on. He would have to explore that particular statement later. Pritchard would have let it go, watching to see what might be said in anger that he could use against them, when Crane had started to burn the papers.

As crazy as Houseman was, his research was the basis of their hold on the world and Pritchard was not willing to let Crane burn that research, He had sent the guards to the cell and had turfed Ortiz out of bed to go along and monitor the situation. He had watched as Crane had defiantly dropped the still burning file on the pile and had faced down the guard with the gun until Ortiz had put a stop to it. The papers were now collected and the two men were returned to the cell. It was time to move on to the next step. He looked at Ortiz, who had just come in.

"Are we ready with the feed? No chance of it being traced? They'll be looking even harder now." He asked.

Ortiz nodded. "I have checked it twice. There won't be any slip-ups. The signal is being repeated between the satellites and can't be traced back to any one of them. Even a computer can't untangle it. We have a desk and chair set up with a blank wall behind it. They won't be able to get anything from the broadcast to incriminate us. Do you really think it is a good idea to have Nelson say what he wants? He could try to signal them or use some code."

Pritchard shrugged. "What can he tell them? He doesn't know where he is or where our facility is. The only information he has is the information we WANT them to have. He's the one that is going to sell it to them in a way we can't, in a way that will convince them to pay whatever we ask. We'll start with me and go to him for the kicker. Make sure the cameramen understand." He stood up, snapping off the monitor as he did so. "Send some guards to get Nelson and have them bring along Crane too. Nelson knows we're going to be live, just so he doesn't get any ideas we'll make sure that he knows the consequences of any attempt to ad lib beyond the bounds."

Ortiz smiled and went to send the guards after the two men. He was going to enjoy watching Nelson help their cause and if he could use it as an excuse to squeeze Crane, all the better. He had not missed the smell of Lucinda Pritchard on the man this morning or the smirk that he had tossed over his shoulder as the two men were moved to the other room. Evidently Lucinda had finally gotten what she had craved since Costa Nuestra. Knowing her appetites, it would not be the last time either.

Ortiz wasn't jealous, theirs wasn't that type of relationship, but she had been his for the last year and what was his he kept hold of until HE made the decision it was over. He had already decided how that was going to happen. Pritchard had set the amount of his share of the ransom but he had decided that his 'portion' was going to be a lot larger than Pritchard or his daughter intended. Since neither Pritchard would be agreeable to the change, they were going to have to be eliminated. It remained to be seen if that elimination would be in the form of a sacrifice to the world community as scapegoats, or if the elimination had to be of a more permanent nature. He had already taken steps to insure that the guards were under his control. He had made himself useful, hiring all the guards, setting up the security and making a good portion of the plans. He had even taken the opportunity to point out to the new captain of the Tantalus just how much better life could be with a very large bank account. When the time came he would make his move.

They were soon in the room they had chosen for the set. There were two desks and chairs. Pritchard went to sit at one and they waited several minutes before the guards led Nelson and Crane into the room. Both men looked around, studying the cameras and sets. Nelson was frowning. He said something to Crane who replied with a shrug. Nelson was then prodded to the second desk, where he sat down and looked over at Pritchard.

"Well, what exactly are the parameters of this circus?" He asked sarcastically.

"You know what they want to know. Tell the truth. That's all that's required of you." Pritchard replied. His eyes shifted to Crane then back to Nelson. "But if you have any ideas about trying to add any….inconsequential information, remember, Captain Crane will suffer for it." He nodded to Ortiz who had moved around behind Crane. The Costa Nuestran pulled out a gun and, with no warning, slammed the barrel against the side of Crane's head. Crane dropped like a stone and lay unmoving on the floor. Ortiz pointed the gun at his head. Nelson, who had jumped to his feet, stopped as Ortiz thumbed back the hammer.

"Now, now, Nelson. Don't make any moves we'll all regret. You do what we want and everything will work out just fine. Crane may have a headache for awhile but at least he won't be dead." Pritchard advised. Nelson simply glared at him then looked back at Crane's unmoving form. He raised his eyes to the smiling Ortiz and finally looked back at Pritchard.

"If you hurt him any further, I swear to you that I will kill you." He warned. Pritchard merely smirked at him, waving away the warning.

"Of course you will." He looked at one of the cameramen. "Are we ready to go?" The man spoke into a microphone that he was wearing and obviously got an answer in his earphones since he nodded to Pritchard and turned one of the two cameras on him.

"As most of you know by now, my name is Jason Pritchard III and I am the leader of the group that is responsible for the communications blackout that took place several days ago. Now that all the mystery is gone, we can get down to serious business. I've given you enough time to get your delegates together and talk it over. Of course, about now everyone is probably half convinced that we can't or won't duplicate what we have done. As you recall in our first broadcast we requested a liaison, someone from your side to verify what we have and our ability to use it. As to our willingness," he paused and smiled in a wolfish manner. "You'll just have to take our word that we are prepared to do what we said we would do." He looked to the side.

"Since we didn't want to deal with the security issues of allowing you to prepare Nelson and Crane for our meeting, we took that out of your hands. Nelson has had a chance to see what we have and talk to our scientists and he's here now to tell you what he's found. And to quiet those people who will say that a prisoner has no choice but to say what his captors tell him to, well, you don't know Nelson very well." He made a motion with his hand and the light on the camera pointing at Nelson turned on.

After a struggle Nelson was able to calm his anger, though he did not hesitate to glare again at Pritchard. He looked at the camera and began speaking, saying what he had planned out the night before. "For those of you who do not know me, I am Admiral Harriman Nelson, US Navy, Retired. I also hold doctorates in physics and engineering. That information can be easily verified. What I cannot verify, despite Mr. Pritchard's humor, is my veracity. For that you have only my word. Some of you will understand the value of that. The rest will have to give it what consideration you will." He looked down and picked up some papers that he had asked for and received from the guards, then looked back at the camera.

"Before I begin I would like to assure my friends and family that both I and Commander Crane are being treated relatively well. I am told that when they receive what they want we will be released." He was well aware that his tone left no doubt how much he believed that particular promise. He looked from Crane to Pritchard but had to look back down at the papers as the anger started to rise again. "By now you should all be aware of the cause of the communications blackout that these people instituted. I know that our government had that information, and would have shared it with the rest of you. I am not going to explain the effects of ceta waves at this time, as it would be too complex for the limited time that I am to be allowed. Suffice it to say that continued bombardment by the waves will result in the end of our civilization, as we know it, and possibly the end of the human race.

"I have spoken at length with the man who created the weapons that produce the ceta waves. And I use the term weapon advisedly, for that is what they are, weapons held at the throat of the world like a knife. These machines are placed in satellites circumnavigating the Earth in a variety of orbits, satellites that were launched for vastly different reasons but with certain additions unbeknownst to their owners. My captors will not, of course, reveal the exact number of satellites but the initial bombardment and the effect it had on the ozone layer are sufficient evidence that they have more than enough satellites to do what they say they will and to permanently damage the ozone layer in the process, leaving the Earth at the mercy of the cosmic radiation that it now stops.

"Your next question will almost certainly be why would these people do something that could mean the end of life as we know it when they would be affected as much as anyone else on the planet? It is against all logic. But greed and lust for power know no bounds. It is not logical and it does not consider the final effect, only the current gratification. The lives of others mean nothing to these people." He said with contempt. "They are more than prepared to use the weapon again, to take the chance that I am lying, or that by some quirk of science or nature they will be able to use the fruits of their extortion to buy their way out of extinction. I personally would not give the man a dime, preferring instead to locate and terminate his threat, but I understand that is a difficult decision and one that the majority of the planet might not agree with." He ignored the growl he heard from Pritchard and picked up another piece of paper that had been on the desk when he arrived. He had looked it over when he had first sat down and found it a list of demands and time schedules.

"My captors have instructed me to give you the following deadline for your decision. At twelve midnight tonight Eastern Standard Time the Secretary General of the United Nations must broadcast his acceptance or refusal. If you choose to pay the ransom they will contact you with a place and time for the money transfer to take place. They say they will give you a day to collect the necessary funds in the form of gold bullion. The amount of the ransom is 350 billion dollars." As soon as he spoke the amount, Pritchard stood and slashed a hand across his throat. The light went out on the camera.

Nelson rose to his feet and without a look at Pritchard went to Crane. He brushed past Ortiz, forcing him to step back. Nelson knelt down and felt for Crane's pulse. It seemed slow but steady, as was his breathing. He gently touched the side of the younger man's head where Ortiz had hit him. He was glad to see that there was no blood, though he could feel a good-sized lump forming. He looked at Pritchard.

"Can I get some help taking him back to our cell?" He asked. "And if it wouldn't be asking too much, I need some ice and some aspirin or other pain reliever." He rose back to his feet. Pritchard was studying him thoughtfully with an almost disappointed look in his eyes.

"I must say, Nelson, you aren't taking this quite like I thought you would." He finally said, ignoring the question. "You just effectively helped me extort a rather large amount of money from the world. I would have thought you might have some feeling about that but you seem more concerned for Crane. I'm not sure how to take that."

"I know exactly what I did." Nelson said, stepping around Crane to stand toe to toe with Pritchard. "I hope that I just signed your death warrant."

"What do you mean? You think they're going to take your advice about finding me and sending in some kind of Delta Force or something? Don't be stupid." Pritchard sneered. "They're too afraid. Also, they haven't found us yet, so I don't think that they are going to be able to locate us and just drop a team in on us within hours."

"Think whatever you want." Nelson said dismissively. "Whether they pay you or not you are still a dead man; all of you are. Do you really think that they are going to allow you to continue to be a threat? Our government might not take the final steps, but I can tell you that there are plenty that will. And that is not mentioning the freelancers who will be after you for the money. You may escape for now but in the end you'll still be dead."

"No one is going to move on me as long as I control the satellites. One hint that anyone is after me and all I have to do is order a switch turned. I may end up dead, but so will the rest of you. That should be one hell of a deterrent. And lest someone think that I can be killed before the word goes out, I've set up a type of dead man's switch. I don't do certain things, the generators are turned on."

Nelson smiled. "You're a fool. No amount of planning is going to save you from yourself and those you've chosen to surround yourself with. You ask why I'm not more upset about our situation? It's because I know your fate as I suspect I know my own. I may die first but I won't be far ahead of you." He turned away and imperiously motioned two of the guards to help him with Crane. The two men looked from Nelson to Pritchard, who finally jerked his head toward Crane. They lifted the unconscious man and, with the third guard following, left the room.

Once they had gone, Pritchard stared for a long time at the door. Ortiz stood watching him, wondering if he was pondering Nelson's words. The Latin man was not pleased that the American admiral had put the thought in Pritchard's mind that perhaps the ones he most needed to be wary of were those closest to him. Ortiz had been quite pleased to use the man's blind spot to make his plans. As good as Pritchard had shown himself to be at business and at planning, Ortiz had little use for the ego that drove him. However, there were still some teeth in the old shark and he didn't plan to end up a meal.

Pritchard turned and saw that Ortiz was watching him with those dark expressionless eyes. Except for the anger that seemed to flare when the man looked at Crane, he could not remember seeing any true feeling in those depths. It hadn't bothered him before but Nelson's words brought back to him what he had heard Crane say earlier about behind the scenes power plays and money grabs. He had attributed that to Lucinda, well aware of her ambitions, but he hadn't been worried. As aggressive as she was, Lucinda was a known factor. He saw a lot of himself in her and knew what she was capable of. Ortiz was another matter.

He knew, of course, what the man had done in that little backwater county they had found him in, but it hadn't disturbed him. Ortiz understood the use of power, if only in its cruder form. But Pritchard was now considering that perhaps he had underestimated the Latin. He had been satisfied to allow Ortiz to handle much of the security matters for the island and the control facility and also for the Tantalus since she had been re-captained, so to speak, and repurposed. There was nothing he could point at that would indicate anything but complete dedication to their purpose, but now that the thought had been put in his mind, he could see where there were ample opportunities for Ortiz to make a move.

There was even the possibility that Lucinda and Ortiz were working together. He hadn't thought that was particularly likely, given that Lucinda wasn't willing to share, and Pritchard had long ago realized that Ortiz saw Lucinda simply as a convenient lay. But there was always the possibility that he had underestimated the appeal of collusion. Well, he would have to show them that he was not a man to be pushed aside easily.

Back in the cell, Nelson had the guards lay Crane on his bed. He had then imperiously ordered some aspirin, using their own language, which had startled them. He had done so on purpose. The more people they could unsettle the better. He got his aspirin and he mentioned that if he were their position he would be finding another job, as this one was going to come to a bad end. The guards left them alone but not before several glances were exchanged. He rolled Crane gently onto his side and went and got a towel and moistened it in the sink. He then sat on the bed next to Crane and gently laid the towel against the lump. He placed a hand on Crane's cheek and then his forehead, pleased that it was cool and not clammy. Obviously the blow had not been severe enough to cause shock. He hoped that meant there was less chance of a concussion. Lee had had more than enough of those in the past, as had Nelson, and they didn't need the debilitating side effects now.

After a much longer time than Nelson would have liked, Crane moaned. Nelson went to sit back on the side of the bed, leaned forward so that he was more on the level with Crane and spoke gently. "Lee. Can you hear me?" He put a hand on the slim back and felt the muscles contracting as Crane struggled back to consciousness. It took several minutes and several more low moans before the golden eyes opened and blinked at him in confusion.

"Can you hear me, Lee?" He asked again. His answer was a slight nod, which made the eyes close tightly. Nelson knew what that pain was like and he waited patiently for the eyes to open again. He had placed a glass of water nearby, along with the aspirin. He reached for the bottle and shook out three of the pills. He left them lying on the bedspread as he watched the eyes blink open again.

"Welcome back." He said, bending down again. "I think that since Jaime isn't here I better ask the regular questions. You've been unconscious for almost forty-five minutes now. Not that we can do much if you are concussed, but at least we can keep you quiet and laying down." He proceeded to ask the questions that Jaime always asked of them: name; rank; what he remembered last, etc. The young man answered all of them correctly, if hesitantly on the one about what he had been doing when he was hurt. Nelson nodded in satisfaction. He also could see that Crane's pupils appeared to be the same size. He moved so that the younger man could sit up, something that took several minutes and that ended with Crane sitting back against the wall with his eyes closed again. Nelson took his hand and gave him the three aspirin, then handed him the glass of water. Crane took them gratefully. Nelson sat back down beside him.

"Who hit me?" Crane asked without opening his eyes.

"Ortiz." Nelson replied. "They felt it would be more of an incentive for me to not add anything to the session. I'm sorry, Lee. It seems I keep saying that. In fact it seems that I've been saying that for the last year. I'm getting as tired of it as you are, no doubt."

Crane's eyes opened and he glanced around the room, his eyes passing over the fixture on the ceiling and ending on Nelson. "Then maybe you should stop taking responsibility for something that is beyond your control." He suggested.

Nelson smiled at him gently. "I will if you will."

They sat in silence for several minutes, each thinking their own thoughts. Then Crane turned his head toward Nelson. The older man was glad to see that the golden eyes were clear, though he noticed that Crane was squinting as if the light hurt his eyes. Even three aspirin were not going to help much with the headache. Had they been on the Seaview Nelson knew that Jamieson would be griping about Crane's semi-upright position, not to mention the self-medicating. It had happened often enough in the past.

"What did you say?" Crane asked. "On the broadcast? How long did they give them to make a decision?"

Nelson related what he had said, and what had occurred after the fact. He saw the satisfaction rise in Crane's eyes as he told him what he had said to Pritchard. It was another plank in the conspiracy theory they were building among the players in the group. They knew, because of the fast response of the guards earlier that Pritchard had heard what Crane had said about power plays and money grabs. That should raise some suspicion against Lucinda and now Nelson had Pritchard considering where he stood with Ortiz. Even the guards had been rattled. The more destabilized the opposition were the better for them.

"So we wait." Crane said. Only Nelson knew that they were waiting for a far different thing than anyone who might be listening might think. He patted Crane's knee and got to his feet.

"You should try to rest for awhile, let the aspirin take effect." He advised. Crane nodded slightly and then lay down, turning toward the wall. Nelson suspected he was not so much sleeping as planning. But at least he was resting. Nelson retreated to his own bed and lit a cigarette. He had some planning of his own to do.

Chapter 16

Chip Morton rolled to his feet as soon as the deck stopped tossing from side to side. The red emergency lights had come on, lighting the control room. He could hear the moans of others as he staggered back to the chart table. He noticed that the crash door was opening and Hickock stood at the control panel looking back at the control room. He looked none the worse for wear, the tough old salt. Morton fumbled for the mic.

"Damage control, report." He snapped, hearing his words broadcast throughout the boat. He realized that the normal sounds he had long ago grown used to were missing. Even the air circulation seemed to be off line, a suspicion he confirmed by looking at the tell-tales on the environmental control board. He saw O'Brien was back on his feet, helping crewmen back up and to their boards. Morton knew he was surveying the damage as he did so. He turned to look at Morton.

"We're on the bottom, sir, five hundred and twenty five feet, environmental, propulsion, weapons, communications and electrical are offline. No serious injuries here." He reported, just before damage control came on the intercom. They reported much the same, running through the various systems that were offline. Morton was relieved to find that the hull was intact and repairs would be completed in the next half hour. The biggest concern, after the environmental system, which had priority, was the reactor. It was offline and without it they were definitely dead in the water.

That, however, was not part of Morton's plans. He was going to get off the bottom and find the Tantalus. Since they had not received another blow from the sonic weapon, he could only assume that the other boat had moved on. He thought he could probably understand what they had been thinking. If they hadn't disabled Seaview permanently, they had at least given themselves time to get away and they were going to take advantage of it. He also had a feeling that Williams probably didn't care one way or the other which it was. The new captain had no way of knowing that they knew where Pritchard had to be.

He began issuing orders, sending various people from the control room to work in specific areas of the boat. No need to keep men sitting there doing nothing when they could be working on restoring the systems. He left O'Brien with the con and stepped forward. Hickock, with admirable restraint had remained in the nose, watching as Morton and O'Brien had begun organizing the repairs. Morton noticed that Pearson was sitting in one of the chairs, looking green around the gills, quite a feat given the red lighting.

"Are you gentlemen all right, Mr. Pearson, Admiral?" He asked. Hickock grinned at him and slapped Pearson on the back, sparking a groan.

"We're fine. Don't worry about the old men. Just get us off the bottom and back on their six. I haven't been scuppered in all the years I was active and I'm not gonna start now." He declared.

"We're working on it, sir. We should have environmental in a few minutes and the rest will follow quickly after that." He looked at Pearson. "Are you sure that you are okay, sir? I can call the doctor…" Pearson was waving a hand before he could finish.

"I don't need a doctor. But I would appreciate it if you could NOT do that again." The older man said pleadingly. "I think that I have surpassed my desire for adventure on, or under, the high seas. Do you people do this a lot?"

Morton had to hide a smile, despite the circumstances. "Unfortunately, more often than I would care to mention, Sir. We'll try to keep it to a minimum from now on."

"I appreciate that." Pearson said. Hickock, who had been hovering around the table, looked at Morton.

"They'll be heading for the island. We know that Pritchard has his timeline set. I'd be willing to bet that the Tantalus is going there to pick him up and take them all to the drop area. I don't think that Harry and Lee are going to be joining them however. I'd say their usefulness runs out when the Secretary General makes his announcement." He said.

"You think Pritchard will have them killed? Just like that? He's a businessman. He doesn't order killings." Pearson reasoned.

"He's a shark and he's done it before. He says 'take care of things' and it gets done. Just because he doesn't say 'murder' or 'kill' doesn't make it any better. Ortiz won't have any problem executing them. We have to get there, _before_ they get the chance." Hickock said firmly.

Morton glanced at the chronometer. They were 30 minutes from regaining power and the ability to move off the bottom, probably an hour from being ready to actually get underway at any speed and two hours from the island at flank. They could land a team, possibly in the smaller of the two bays. He suspected that the larger bay would be the most watched, so they would avoid it. They might even avoid the bays altogether and just land on a beach. Harder to get on shore, having to deal with the surf, but it might be safer for both the team and for Nelson and Crane. Of course they would have to deal with the Tantalus when they got there and there was no telling what that would entail. He was determined that their next meeting would end quite differently.

"I'm heading down to the reactor room to see if I can help get it back on line. We aren't going anywhere without that. If you gentlemen would stay here, I'd appreciate it." He could have made it an order but a commander didn't order around an admiral, even a retired one, maybe especially a retired one. Pearson looked like he wasn't prepared to move in any event.

"I'm a fair hand at electrical systems." Hickock offered, smiling as he saw Morton's eyebrow rise. "I didn't spring from the womb an admiral, Commander. I have a degree in electrical engineering and I've kept my hand in it. Mostly surveillance equipment now, but I think that your systems should be pretty standard. If you'll allow me, I think I will be able to help."

Morton was more than prepared to believe that the man could do what he said. He knew that Lee held the admiral in high esteem. He could think of no reason to refuse help that might get them off the seafloor faster. He nodded. "I'll show you where the circuitry room is, Sir." He said. Hickock waved a hand.

"Never mind. Do what you have to do. Lee showed me the circuitry room when he gave me the tour over a year ago." He stopped as he realized what he had said. Damn it.

Even with the time pressing, Morton couldn't let that pass. "I don't recall you being aboard previously, Sir, at least not before Lee was on the Tantalus the second time." He said.

Hickock sucked in a deep breath. He might have known. Morton was sharp as a tack and wasn't about to let something like that slip by him. It was part of an XO's job to know everything that took place on the boat and the visit of an admiral was definitely something that would have caught his eye or ear. That was if it had been in a report, or if there had been anyone else aboard. Evidently getting old had loosened his tongue more than he knew.

"You..uh..weren't aboard at the time. In fact no one was. It was Christmas day last year. Everyone was gone. The Institute was like a ghost town, only security roaming around, and of course, Lee." Morton nodded. He remembered that Christmas. The regular Morton Christmas had been called off as his mother's aunt had been in the process of dying. The woman had been well over 90 and in the end had decided that dying wasn't what she wanted to do. She was still going strong, but at that time all of the older generation had been at her bedside comforting each other. Chip had traveled to his sister's house in Florida to spend Christmas with her where a gathering was being held for the kids. Lee had refused to come even after Chip's sister had called and invited him. He knew they were pressed for space and weren't used to having to host the clan. Crane hadn't wanted to intrude.

Nelson had been stuck in Oslo, having been there for a symposium earlier in the week. An ice storm had grounded all flights out and had even stopped the trains. He had been effectively trapped there with several friends in a luxury hotel. Not exactly dire straits, but Morton knew that he regretted not being back to spend Christmas with Lee. Crane had received various offers from members of the crew but had refused them all, saying he really preferred to be alone. From anyone else Morton might have suspected a twisted sort of martyrdom, a 'pity poor lonely me' kind of thing, but with Lee it was easy to believe that he actually DID prefer to be alone. He remembered at the time he had realized that between the Mortons, Nelson, the crew, the Hickocks, and assorted other friends, Crane was very seldom alone on any type of holiday or shore leave. It was a part of his character that he needed to be alone on occasion, some would say to brood, but Morton had come to realize that Crane achieved his balance best when left on his own.

"The wife and I were out on the West coast that year at my eldest's house. My daughter-in-law was a month from giving birth and couldn't fly to come out East and so we all came out to their place. They live in Laguna Beach and I called Lee up on the off chance that he was there. After the midday meal everyone settled down for football watching and since I wasn't too interested in the teams I met Lee at the Institute. He had been on the boat all day I guess. I overheard the guards talking and they said he had been there when the early shift had come on, just sitting in the nose or wandering around the boat. It seems that someone had called their wife and a meal with all the fixings had been sent in, much to Lee's embarrassment I must add. He had been going to fix himself something in the galley.

"In any event he showed me around. I'd not been aboard her before, but seeing the boat through his eyes made me feel like I had sailed on her numerous times. He practically showed me every rivet from her nose to her stern. Harry himself couldn't have been more proud." Hickock explained with a smile. Morton shook his head. Leave it to Crane, not only getting in his solitary time but also spending it on his gray lady. Knowing Crane, he had enjoyed it.

"We'll be happy to have your help, Sir. I'll have O'Brien notify the damage control crew that you'll be down." Morton assured the admiral and headed back toward the chart table to let O'Brien know where he was going and to alert the crew in the circuitry room that they would have some high-ranking help. He turned aft to head for the reactor room, his step lighter. They were going to make it on time.

Chapter 17

Dinner had been another tray of food for Nelson but this time the guards had simply thrust the tray into his hands and stood with guns ready. Nelson had glared at them and had sat down on his bed to eat. The guards had relaxed when he didn't protest and had talked among themselves, though he noticed they kept their voices down now that they knew he spoke Greek. Nelson had taken advantage of their inattention to slide a roll off the tray and under his pillow. He also wrapped some meat into a napkin and secreted that with the roll. Crane had ignored the whole process, though Nelson knew he was awake, his face turned to the wall. After he finished, Nelson stood, handed back the tray and then returned to his bed until they left and locked the door. With a glance at the fixture and a mental shrug he took out his hidden booty and went to Crane's bed. They might be watching but since it was the same time as the dinner the previous night, he doubted it. He touched Crane's shoulder and the younger man rolled over and looked at him curiously. Nelson offered the food. He saw Crane's eyes look up but he shook his head to the silent question he saw there.

"You need to eat something. It's not much, but at least it will give you some protein and carbohydrates in your system." He said simply. He knew that Crane would understand that he was concerned about what was going to happen that night and that he had the energy to do what had to be done. Crane pushed himself up and took the food. He ate it slowly as Nelson went and sat down on his bed again. He would not be sorry to see the last of this cell.

"How is your head feeling?" he asked when Crane had finished.

"Okay. The aspirin helped the initial throbbing, and I think I managed to get some sleep before they came with the food." Crane replied. They continued a desultory conversation for several minutes, until they could find nothing else to discuss that they did not want overheard. Nelson lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. He heard Crane get up to use the facilities. When he was finished Nelson turned his eyes back to the young man to evaluate how he moved. There seemed to be no hesitation in his step. He was not happy that Crane had to go into action with a possible concussion, no matter how minor, but they had no choice.

The lights went out several hours later and Nelson glanced at his watch, which he had set to the local time the evening before. It was 10 pm, two more hours before they could make their move. He set the alarm on his watch, though he was sure that he would not oversleep, and closed his eyes. Lying around doing nothing was only slightly less tiring than doing hard work. He was quickly asleep. He woke two hours later when the small alarm went off next to his head. He turned it off and sat up. His eyes were adjusted to the dark, but he still could not see Crane.

"Lee?" He asked softly.

"I'm awake." Came the equally soft reply. He heard Crane rise to his feet, but did not hear him go to the door. The younger man was quite efficient at moving silently. Nelson rose to his feet and with a hand on the wall, moved to the edge of the door. There was a faint scratching sound coming from where he assumed the lock was. After less than a moment the door opened, revealing a small sliver of soft light. Crane opened the door further and looked cautiously out. Obviously finding nothing, he opened the door wider still and slipped out. Nelson followed quickly. He had been thinking about what needed to be done. Crane relocked the door behind them on the off chance that one of the wandering guards might check it. Nelson then followed Crane to the head of the stairs. There, he placed a hand on the younger man's arm and pulled him into an alcove. Crane looked at him in question.

"We're going to need to split up here, Lee." He said. He could see the argument rising in the golden eyes that studied him and he lifted a hand. "I know you would prefer that we stick together, but our enforced inactivity gave me some time to think. Taking out their facility is not enough. It's of little use to destroy this one if they can simply duplicate their efforts elsewhere. We certainly can't take all of the people here into custody and what if one or more of them escapes before we can get some backup? We have no idea where the Tantalus is. Think of the value it would have as a mobile satellite control facility. All they need is the ability to contact the satellites and how to use the generators. If we want to control that, we have to take Houseman out of here with us. As long as he is on the loose, this could happen again. I don't think you would want this technology in the hands of the People's Republic."

He saw the grimace of distaste on Crane's face, knowing that he was torn by his duty and his personal preferences. That was one of the reasons he hadn't shared this particular part of his plan earlier, when ha had actually thought of it. He hadn't wanted Crane to have time to come up with arguments as to why they should not separate. He knew the reason behind Crane's reluctance and it warmed his heart to know that the younger man cared for him to such a degree that even duty, a driving force in Crane's life, was pushed aside, but he could not allow that to color his decisions. They both knew what had to be done. Finally Crane nodded.

"I'll head for the south bay. If the DSV is there, I'll hotwire it and wait for you. If you aren't there in thirty minutes I'll…" he started, but Nelson cut him off.

"You'll go ahead and find the facility and do what has to be done." Nelson ended the sentence. "You will not, under any circumstances, return here for me." A look of anger passed over Crane's face and then he smiled a grim smile.

"But as you said, Sir, destroying the facility will do no good if Houseman can duplicate what he's done. If you don't come, how can I know that Houseman has been neutralized?" Nelson frowned as his own argument was thrown back at him. He thought quickly.

"All right, Captain," he said in his best command voice, letting Crane know he wasn't too pleased with him at that moment. "If I don't meet you there in thirty minutes, then you will go to the facility and destroy the panels as I have described them. At that point if you return to the dock and I am not there, you are authorized to return here and do what you can about Houseman." Nelson told him his plan for causing a diversion based on the information Crane had given him earlier. Crane gave him a brief nod and started to move off.

Nelson reached out and grabbed his arm conscious that time was not their friend. However, he could not leave it with such stern words. Too often in the past he had sent this man, his son in everything but blood, into situations that could result in one or both of them being killed. Sometimes he had done it in an almost cavalier manner and sometimes he had done it with final words that had later torn at his heart as he waited to be find out if Crane would survive his 'success'. He would not leave such words, or even such a tone, between them now.

"Lee. Be careful," Was all he said, knowing somehow that Crane would understand everything he didn't have time to say. He saw he was right as Crane gave him a small grin and headed down the hallway. He watched until Crane disappeared around a corner, and then headed down the stairs. He was betting that Houseman was in that room where he had seen the guard.

In the office down the hall from where Crane and Nelson had just split up, Pritchard was sitting in his chair, contemplating the depths of his whiskey glass. It was time to get some sleep. He needed to be up early in the morning to see the result of his machinations. He was confident that the delegates would agree to their terms and it would then just be a matter of boarding the Tantalus, which was on its way, and going to the drop area. He allowed himself a smile of satisfaction when he thought about how the board had griped about the expense of the boat, well, it was going pay for itself now. Not that the board cared now, most of them were up to their elbows in attorneys, SEC warrants, and IRS agents.

He looked away from his drink as Ortiz came in. He had been in the security room making his usual check-in with the facility before going to bed. If the look on his face was any indication it had not been a good conversation. He slammed the door and went to the bar. He seemed to be muttering to himself in Spanish. Pritchard raised an eyebrow at him as he sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk.

"Something up?" he asked.

"I was talking to Peters, Houseman's assistant. He says they need to do some recalibration, so that when they switch the control to the Tantalus we will not loose contact with the satellites. It seems that Dr. Houseman also did not see fit to mention that acquiring the generator's communication systems can be a very time consuming job and in fact they lost five and have been unable to regain them in the last week. If they lose the rest we will not have enough to cause more than a little static."

"Well, that's great. I hope you told him to stop sitting on his thumbs and get to it. We have less than twelve hours before we move to the Tantalus. She should be here in the morning shortly after the broadcast. I don't want to be hanging around while they try to figure out how to plug wire 'a' into port 'b' or whatever."

"I did tell him but they need Houseman's notes. I'm going to take them down now. Demetrius is getting the box loaded in the jeep. He'll pilot me down and I will…..supervise them through the night." He didn't seem to be so upset about the supervision but there was something bothering him.

"Something else wrong I need to know about?" He probed. Ortiz finished his drink and rose to his feet, taking the glass back to the bar. He put it down and started for the door. Pritchard thought he was going to ignore the question but then he stopped, not turning to look at Pritchard.

"I ran into your daughter on the patio. She will be coming with me to the facility." He stated flatly.

Pritchard allowed his eyebrow to rise in surprise since the other man was not looking at him. "I didn't think she was too fond of the DSV, something about feeling like a sardine. She doesn't even like the Tantalus." He observed.

"She was on her way to the cell, to get Crane, again. That is a complication we do not need. I…suggested that she should accompany me." Thus keeping her away from the handsome young captain at least for the night, was the unspoken conclusion. Pritchard allowed himself a small smile. It seemed his reading was right. Ortiz might not want Lucinda in a permanent way but he wasn't going to let her choose another man when he was around, much less an enemy. A bit of a power struggle between the two was something to be encouraged he felt. If they were keeping each other off balance, then they would be less focused on what he was doing.

"Ah, I see. Well, good luck with that. She'll be bored out of her mind and getting on everyone's nerves inside thirty minutes. You may wish you'd left her to her…entertainment." He said. Ortiz looked over his shoulder at Pritchard, who had a straight face, and shrugged. He continued out of the room. Pritchard let the smile bloom again.

Chapter 18

Morton was at the hydrophone station listening in on the signals as Riley, who had come on duty a half hour before, delicately adjusted the gain a little more. They were just on the edge of the Tantalus' sonar range and just on the edge of their own without going active, but they did not want to give their position away. It had taken them long enough to locate the Tantalus without giving themselves away. The Tantalus was stopped in the water, at station keeping just over a mile from the small island they knew was owned by Pritchard's corporation. They were waiting for something. Morton suspected that it was the Seaview.

Williams might be a pompous ass, but he had the same training that Morton did and he wasn't going to simply discount the Seaview altogether. He would figure that if the Seaview could get off the bottom, then she would follow along the same course the Tantalus had been on. The Tantalus' position, lying along a seamount that effectively hid their signature from all but the finest tuned detection equipment, and the most skilled operators, was a trap. Morton was lucky to have both on the Seaview.

It was actually Riley who had found them. The Seaview, repaired from her earlier clash with the other boat, had approached from the North after making a wide circle around the island. There had been no sign of the other boat until on one pass Riley had heard something that sounded like machinery being moved. They had narrowed the search area and had finally been able to locate the other boat. They were now at station keeping themselves, watching and waiting. Williams had not considered the Seaview's greater speed and had no way of knowing that they knew where he was going. He would wait a reasonable amount of time and then write off the Seaview as too damaged or having lost the trail.

"She's just sitting there, Sir. Like a spider waiting for a fly to come along." Riley observed quietly, adjusting the dials again.

Morton nodded and went to the nose. "Give me the nose camera, maximum magnification." The other boat appeared on the screen and Morton used the joystick to pan down her length. It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for. The doors in the bow were open. She was ready to fire. He panned the camera back down her length and focused on the aft section.

Hickock, who had been hovering around the control room since he had returned from the circuitry room, grunted. "Loaded for bear." He observed studying the picture. "What's your plan, Commander?"

Morton motioned for the camera to be cut off and looked at Hickock. "We can't land a boat on the island while they are hovering around. They'd hit us and then go after the rafts. Doesn't do much for the element of surprise for the landing party and gets us back on the bottom, if not worse. But I think I have an idea." He led the way back to the chart table and opened a sheaf of computer paper. "I did an analysis of our previous encounter. Each time they fired they were bow on to us and almost exactly 700 yards away. As you could just see they have no ports in the aft section. They're vulnerable from the rear."

He flipped through the computer printout. Finally he found what he was looking for. He pointed to a section. "I did some computer modeling based on the information the admiral shared with us about what capabilities a sonic weapon would have. I also had a quick chat with one of the scientists back at the Institute. He verified what the computer told me. That weapon has a limit. They have to be inside a thousand yards or the sound burst dissipates too much to be effective. Seven hundred yards is just about optimum range."

"So we come at them from the rear, or stay more than a thousand yards away from them. I know we're faster than they are but they can turn a lot faster, bring that gun around to bear." Hickock summarized. He cast a glance at Morton. "Preemptive strike from the rear?" He suggested.

Morton gave a shrug and shook his head. "I can't just fire on them, even though they came at us. But if they were to make a move, especially given their previous hostile reaction, well then all bets are off." He described his plan. Hickock grinned at him.

"I like how you think, Mister." He said. He looked at the clock. "It's just after 2200 now, local time. They couldn't have been here too long. You figure we should give them a chance to nod off, lose a little of their edge then make our move?"

"Exactly, Sir." Morton acknowledged.

He had O'Brien send runners for the officers, not wanting to use the intercom. If they were listening over there, he wanted them to hear nothing suspicious. Once the officers were gathered, he detailed his plan. Each officer would share what was necessary with the men in his section. He sent them off and went back to the charting table to go over his plan one more time. Once they had dealt with the Tantalus they would land a party on the island and find Nelson and Crane. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't too late.

Almost two hours later they were ready to go. Morton looked around the control room, seeing every station manned and everyone ready to go. He looked at the nose where Sharkey was standing by at the laser controls, waiting for his signal. He looked at the magnetometer station where Chance had returned after a break. The man was familiar with the signs of an incipient firing. Morton wanted that surety on the station when they did this. It was going to be a matter of timing but he had confidence in his crew. He looked at O'Brien.

"We got the tubes loaded, Bobby?" He asked, though he was sure that it had been done. A good commander didn't take things for granted though.

"Yes, Sir." O'Brien replied. "All tubes loaded. Target is acquired. All stations report ready."

Morton nodded, his eyes roaming over the boards. They were ready. All that was needed was a command from him. He had done it before, taken this boat, this crew into combat situations. He had pitted his knowledge against the knowledge of another sub commander and had lived to tell the tale. But it had been different somehow. Those had been warships. With a crew of sailors who knew that they could die in the service of their country, just as those aboard Seaview knew that the ultimate sacrifice might be required from them. But he wasn't sure that those aboard the Tantalus knew what they might be called upon to do.

From what Lee had said only the captain and the first officer had been aware of the weapon in the nose of the other vessel. Somehow he didn't believe that Pritchard was being any more forthcoming with his new crew, maybe less so since he would not have wanted the Peoples Republic government to seize the boat before he could put his plan into action. Well that cat was out of the bag now but Morton imagined there would be some rather large bonuses for the men on the sub in the offing. Regardless of that however, Morton didn't savor the idea of disabling or even possibly destroying a civilian boat. He took a deep breath and looked at O'Brien who was standing by the firing control board.

"Fire 1." He turned instantly to the helm. "Helm steer 191, all ahead, flank." He felt the slight movement of the boat as the torpedo was fired and then the more powerful surge of the engines as they started moving. O'Brien moved to the Sonar station. Tobias, at the firing control board, was counting down.

"….Five, four, three, two, one, impact!" he cried.

They felt the shock wave soon after, a gentle swaying unlike the earlier effect of the other boat's weapon. Morton looked at the sonar station where both Kowalski and O'Brien were concentrating on the screen. There was a brief wait then O'Brien turned to Morton. "Direct hit on the target, sir. We blew off about half of the top of the seamount. The fish passed right over their deck. They'll think we just missed. Must have shook them up good. They should be going…"

"They've gone active." Kowalski interrupted. "Seems they noticed us." Morton smiled. It didn't hurt that they had blown past right in front of them.

"They're moving, Sir." Said Riley at the hydrophone. "I have propellers. They're moving out fast."

Morton nodded and turned back to the chart table. "I want to stay just over a thousand yards in front of them at all times. Go to emergency flank if necessary." He ran a hand over the area for which they were headed. "We should be able to out-distance them easily, especially with the head start. Once we get to this range of seamounts, I want to make the turn and go to emergency flank as soon as we are out of their detection range." He made a mark on the chart. "We need to be here before they get around and can scan the area." O'Brien took another look at the sonar and then came over to look at the chart.

"We're likely to scrape the paint going through there." He said doubtfully. "The skipper won't like that."

"Not to be concerned, Bobby." Chip said with a smile. "I'll put in a good word for you with the captain. He'll understand."

O'Brien shot him a mock glare. "Gee, thanks, Sir. I appreciate your support."

Morton was pleased that O'Brien had seamlessly flowed with the light banter. He could see the men smiling to themselves at their stations. Relaxed officers meant relaxed men, another thing that Lee Crane had shown him. As they headed for their turning point he spared a moment to think about his friend, and his employer. Were they on the island or the Tantalus? Were they even still alive? He could only hope that they were. Until they could deal with the Tantalus, they wouldn't be able to find out. He pushed the anxiety back down. He couldn't dwell on that now. They had a job to do and they owed to not only Nelson and Crane, but to the world, to do it right.

Chapter 19

Crane crept down the hall, looking for the panel he had seen during his previous prowling of the halls. It was an electrical panel, partially hidden in an alcove behind some dried flowers. He had been forced to duck into one of the dining rooms minutes earlier when he had heard a door slam down the hall. He had watched through a crack as Ortiz had stalked past headed toward the stairs. He spared a thought for Nelson, but knew that the Admiral was experienced and should be able to evade detection as well as he could. Hopefully by now he was in the room with Houseman. He breathed a sigh of relief seconds later when Ortiz had reappeared with Lucinda in tow and headed down the hall from where he had come. He had to smile as he heard the two arguing about something. It seemed that there was a bit of tension there. He checked his watch. He and Nelson had planned ten minutes after they split up for the lights to go out.

He opened the panel and studied the fuses that were there. It appeared this was the panel for the entire house, all conveniently labeled. He reached in and pulled out the first fuse. The others quickly followed. He saved the one marked upstairs, North, for last. Once he pulled that the lights went out in the hallway. He juggled the fuses and headed down the hallway. He could hear movement to his rear but he ignored it as he approached the French doors that led out onto the upper level patio. As he opened the door and stepped out he saw the beam of a flashlight down the hall. He quickly but quietly closed the door. It wouldn't be too long until they checked the fuse box and there might even be a back up system, so he didn't have much time. He had to be off the porch and out of the light by the time the lights came back on. He saw the taillights of one of the jeeps disappearing down the road that he had used before. Damn it. Someone was heading to the docks. He saw a second jeep and shrugged. Why not?

Moments later the jeep roared to life and he was following the other vehicle down the road. He didn't turn on the lights, depending on the light of the three quarter moon to light his way. He didn't hurry, but he kept up a good pace. As he rounded a turn he noticed that the sky above where he estimated the house stood suddenly lit up. The lights were back on. He hoped Nelson was on the move. He stopped the jeep before he rounded the turn that would take him down to the dock he had been at earlier. He looked around and then drove the jeep off the road and into the low brush at the side of the road. It was hidden for the most part.

He jogged over the hill and worked his way down to the water at the far side of the small bay. He could make out people moving on the other side. As he watched a man carried first one box then another to the DSV. Ortiz and Lucinda were standing near the jeep, smoking and, if he wasn't mistaken, still arguing about something. Damn it, he wasn't going to be able to wait for Nelson. The admiral had made it clear that his first duty was to take out the control facility. He might not like it, but he would follow his orders.

He slid into the water in a patch of shadow and swam across the bay underwater. When he needed to breath he barely broke the surface and dove again quickly. He was soon under the dock. He listened as the DSV came to life and then two sets of footsteps sounded down the dock. Ortiz and Lucinda were boarding the DSV. That would add a complication that he had not counted on. This way he would know where the facility was, but he would not be able to enter it through the boarding hatch. It would do little good for him to get there and not be able to get in.

As he pondered this problem, his eyes moved over the side of the DSV, idly noting the places the arms could attach for sampling. As he heard the main hatch being closed his eyes fell on the space where one of the larger sample arms attached. It was just above the waterline. This was meant for a large sample container that could be accessed from the inside of the DSV via an inner hatch. The compartment was watertight and could be pressurized. If he recalled the set up correctly on this model, a smaller sister of the Niobe, then just inside the hatch was a small maintenance access that would not only allow him to pressurize the space but would also open the inner door.

Of course he had to get in first then he had to access the hatch. He swam quickly down and collected the two emergency breathing apparatus that he had dropped. He attached them to his belt as they were made to do. He then quickly swam to the DSV and went to the hatch. He was reaching for the handle that was there, turning it to unlock the hatch as the DSV started to move. He grabbed a nearby cleat and let himself be dragged along as he twisted the handle around until the lock disengaged. He knew that a tell tale would light up on the pilot's board and that the man would delay diving until he could determine why the hatch was suddenly reading open that had been closed moments before. As soon as the hatch was opened he levered himself into the opening, folding his long form into the space. There was enough room for him but it wasn't comfortable, his knees were tucked against his chest. He had a sudden flashback to the confining space of the mining drone he had used to escape the Tantalus just over three months ago. He had thought that was small, but this was worse. He reached up and pulled the hatch closed. He heard the lock engage and disengage several times, finally staying engaged.

As he had hoped, the pilot had assumed that the sensor for the hatch was malfunctioning. He had simply kept cycling the lock until he got a consistent response from the tell tale. It was not something Crane would have dismissed so easily, but he was grateful for the man's lack of what he considered to be basic piloting responsibilities. The DSV started to move again. Before it could dive Crane dug in his pocket for the small knife he had taken from the bar in Lucinda's room. It was awkward getting it out but he persisted. As he succeeded, the DSV started to dive. He tucked the knife under his shoulder and struggled to pull the first of the two emergency breathers up to his face. The compartment started flooding.

He took several breaths as the water rose, using the last of the air to saturate his system. There was around six minutes of air in the small tanks if they were fully charged. By holding his breath he could stretch that to double that time easily, but not much further. He hoped that they didn't decide to take a midnight tour. He used the head strap on the apparatus and took a breath to make sure the on demand oxygen feed worked. It did. He reached for the knife and used his other hand to feel for the access hatch. He mentally kept track of the time as he found the small hatch and used the knifepoint to start unscrewing the screws that held it in place. He had removed the four screws, leaving the panel in place just as the first tank ran out. He pushed it down out of his way and brought up the second. He hoped that the trip was nearing its end.

He tried to stretch the air as long as he could. Holding his breath until his lungs screamed. Finally he felt the DSV turn sharply, then heard a 'thunk' and knew they had hooked up to the facility. He could feel the DSV moving as the passengers and, he hoped the pilot, disembarked. He felt the craft move several more times, and suspected that the pilot was removing the boxes that he had loaded earlier. Finally the craft was still and Crane removed the loosened panel. He tried to visualize the system in his head, but had to take another brief breath of air when his mind didn't want to cooperate. He could feel the buttons and pushed what he believed to be the one that would pressurize the compartment. He knew he had chosen correctly when the water level began dropping and he could feel the pressure on his eardrums change. He equalized the pressure in his ears as any experienced diver would and waited for the process to finish. He then hit the next button. There was a slight whirring noise and the hatch popped open. He pushed it out and with some difficulty dragged himself into the DSV.

He had to lie on the deck for several minutes as he waited for the agonizing process of blood circulation to resume. He was shivering from the chill of the water and was breathing hard. He stood finally, leaning against a panel. He walked around as much as the confined space would allow, getting his legs used to moving again. The hatch had been left open and he cautiously climbed out, finding himself in an airlock. There was a window in the hatch separating the lock from the facility and he looked carefully out. There was no one in the hall that he could see through the window.

He had no way of knowing how large this facility was or how many people staffed it, but he hoped most were sleeping at this time of the night. Obviously something was going on somewhere however, or Ortiz would not have made the late night trip. He hit the control to open the door and it slid up with a whoosh. He cautiously started down the corridor, noticing with a slight smile that he was making squishing sounds. He needed to get dried off and then find the controls. He stopped as his eyes fell on a small sign. How convenient, they had posted a 'you are here' notice.

He studied the sign carefully. It seemed that Pritchard had spared no expense in building his undersea facility. It was in the traditional domed shape with a small docking tunnel that he had just left. The map showed it had three floors and just over 3000 sq feet of space. He memorized the layout. The rooms for the workers were on the top floor. The second floor, which he was on now, seemed to be reserved for a large 'operations room' and a few offices. The lower level housed the machines necessary to maintain the atmosphere, power and computer systems. It was there he would start. He also noted that there was an emergency escape hatch on each level. The sign indicated that at each hatch was a locker with breathing apparatuses. Good, an alternative escape if he could not get back to the DSV.

He saw that there was a small service compartment just two doors down the hall. He went to the door and opened it, revealing a closet-sized room containing cleaning supplies and implements and, just what he was looking for, a pair of overalls. They were white and plain and thankfully long enough to cover his long legs. He slipped out of his wet clothes and into the slightly baggy overalls, zipping them up. Not the best fit, but it was better than he had before. He stilled his movements when he heard voices in the hall but they passed quickly and he completed the change. He was forced to use his own shoes but figured that, other than the faint squishing sound, no one should notice they were wet.

He started down the hall again, toward the stairway that would take him down to the lower level. He managed to reach it without having to dodge any of the personnel. He wished he knew how many people were here. What he was about to do was going to cause a certain degree of chaos and the more people that were here, the more chaotic and more likely that lives would be lost. He knew that lives might have to be sacrificed, in order to protect even more, but he was reluctant to kill if he could find a way around it. As he went cautiously down the stairs, he suddenly thought of a way he could be sure that there were no casualties other than the facility itself. At the base of the stairs he found another of the convenient signs. It helpfully showed him what he needed to know. He went down the hall to the door marked "environmental" and opened the thankfully unlocked door. As it swung open, he found himself almost face to face with a tall, hefty blond man.

"Who the hell are you?" The man demanded.

Chapter 20-

Nelson went down the stairs quickly, knowing that he had little time to get to Houseman's room before Crane would turn off the power. If there was a back up system they would be out of luck, but if not they would have a short window of opportunity to get out and away from the house. It would then just be a matter of getting to the south end of the island. He reached the door that he had seen the guard exiting earlier and was glad to see the key in the lock. He had taken the same training as Lee had in lock picking, but he had never had the knack for it as the younger man did. Of course his captain seemed to have more opportunities to practice than Nelson had ever had. He slid into the room, taking the key with him and locked the door behind him. He stood, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. He noted that the doors to the lower level patio were closed and, he assumed, locked. There seemed to be a bright moon shining outside. That would be a mixed blessing, allowing them to see but also allowing them to be seen.

He went to the bed, verifying that it was indeed Houseman who slept there. He moved to the side of the bed and put his hand over Houseman's mouth. He then shook the man's shoulder. The other scientist woke with a start, his eyes flying open as he realized that someone was restraining him. He struggled briefly against Nelson's hold, but Nelson used his weight to hold the other man down. Finally Houseman stopped struggling and looked at who was holding him. Nelson saw the eyebrows pull together and eased up on his hold. He did not remove the hand over Houseman's mouth.

"Hopefully by now you will have seen that the people you have gotten involved with are not interested in furthering your research and, in fact, are ready to discard you, as they have others who have become inconvenient to their plans. Captain Crane and I are leaving. You have the choice of coming along or staying and taking your chances with these people. In either event, you will remain quiet and follow my orders or you will find that I can be almost as unpleasant as they can. Now, if you want to go with us, nod your head. If you want to remain here, shake it." Nelson carefully left his voice devoid of any emotion. He wanted Houseman to believe that it didn't matter one way or the other to him if he came or not. It was going to be infinitely easier to get the man out of here with his cooperation. Nelson would take him either way, but the chances of escape dropped if he had to deal with an uncooperative prisoner as well.

Crane had expressed some doubts about the advisability of attempting to take an unwilling Houseman along. But Nelson had argued that while the man might be mad by several standards, he was by no means stupid. Nelson believed that he would not want to stay here. His assertion was proved out as Houseman nodded vigorously. He removed his hand.

"Get dressed. In dark clothing if you have any. Don't turn on any lights." Nelson said. Houseman rose and quickly dressed. Nelson went to the doors, studied the locks and the softly lit patio beyond the glass. He fingered the paperclip that Crane had given him. A quick glance at his watch showed their diversion should be coming soon. He started working on the lock, satisfied when he heard it click. Houseman came to his side.

"My notes, they took all my notes. I can't leave them behind." He said urgently.

"We don't have a lot of choice. We certainly can't tote them with us and even if we could we don't have the time to find them. I think you would rather be alive to be able to recreate your work rather than dead and in possession of your notes." Nelson said acerbically. "Now, as I said, if you want to come along, then you will be quiet and do what I say." He stopped when the lights went out on the patio. He wrenched open the door and, grabbing Houseman's arm, dragged him out the door. They stood outside for a minute as Nelson scanned the lower patio but saw no one. Due to the overhang of the upper patio he couldn't see the stars yet, but he could see the larger of the two bays below. That meant they had to move in the opposite direction. He started toward the end of the patio, thinking it was the same one that Crane had climbed over the night before.

He helped Houseman over the balustrade and into the olive tree, then climbed over himself. He heard what sounded like first one and then another vehicle start and drive off. As they passed through the gardens Nelson caught an occasional glance of lights moving off into the distance, though he thought he only saw what appeared to be one set of lights. Could the second vehicle be Crane? They had almost reached the end of the garden when a voice spoke behind them.

"That's far enough, Nelson." It was Pritchard. Nelson stiffened and Houseman let out an almost whimper. Nelson turned to find Pritchard standing behind them, a flashlight in his hand. Nelson immediately noticed that he didn't have a gun. Pritchard shook his head and Nelson could hear the mocking in his tone. "How very rude of you to go without taking leave of your host. I would have thought better of you, Nelson. And you, Doctor Houseman, this shows a distinct lack of gratitude for all that I have done for you."

"One doesn't usually thank one's kidnappers. I'll have my secretary send you a note. I'm sure they'll let you have mail in whatever prison you end up in." Nelson said.

"Very funny." Pritchard said, looking around. "I don't see the captain. Has he rushed off? Another appointment somewhere?"

Nelson waved a hand. "Can the attempted humor, Pritchard. We're leaving. Captain Crane is already gone and out of your reach. We're not going to stay here and be slaughtered at your leisure. Call your guards. We'll give them a run for your money." Nelson kept a hand on Houseman's arm, ready to move if Pritchard made to call his guards. He wasn't surprised that the man had come after them on his own. He must have stepped out on the upper patio and seen them moving. In his arrogance, he hadn't called the guards immediately. Nelson intended to take advantage of that hubris if he could.

Pritchard's face grew serious. "I don't think so, Nelson. Now where is Crane? He couldn't have gotten too far. In fact, I'm sure he wouldn't go without you. He seems foolishly loyal that way. Where is he?" The last was a demand. Pritchard had moved closer to the two fugitives, almost at arms length. Nelson set himself, releasing Houseman and stepping slightly forward. This was going to force him to change his plan. They would not have the benefit of time. The south bay would be out of their reach. At least they would not lead the guards to Lee. But there had to be something they could do to get away. As they had moved he found himself facing a part of the bay. He could see a dock and two small boats with outboard motors that were tied up there. He would have preferred something faster, but any port in a storm.

"I told you. He's gone." Was all Nelson said. He wasn't going to engage in a battle of words with Pritchard. It only used up time they didn't have. Once the lights came back on the guards would be on them. Pritchard stepped forward again. Nelson sprang forward, his fist landing against Pritchard's jaw. The blow was not as powerful as he might have wished, but the other man staggered backward and fell. Nelson spun, looking at Houseman who was staring at him as if he had grown another head.

"Get down to the dock, get in one of the boats and start the motor. If I'm not there by the time the lights come back on, cast off and head for the open ocean. There are lots of fishing boats and tourists, you'll be found." He gave Houseman a push toward the top of the stairs that he suspected led down to the bay far below. He turned as he heard Pritchard cursing. The man was struggling to his feet. Nelson took a step forward and looked over his shoulder. Houseman hadn't moved any further. "Get going, man!" Nelson snapped. He turned his attention back to Pritchard who was now standing. Pritchard touched a hand to his mouth and pulled it away, looking at the blood on his hand shining in the moonlight. He growled and rushed at Nelson.

Nelson braced himself and they grappled, pushing each other back and forth, each throwing punches as space allowed. They were of an age but while Pritchard's fitness came from a gym, Nelson's was the result of a lifetime in the Navy. He had been taught to fight and his skills, though admittedly rusty, easily cancelled out the advantage Pritchard had in size and reach. The fight seemed to go on for a long time, though it was really only minutes. They had managed to crash through a small hedge and were rolling on the ground, locked in each other's arms, when the lights came on in the house. Light from the patio spilled out over the garden. Nelson heard a yell from the direction of the patio and knew that they had been spotted. He wrenched himself free and rolled to his feet. He looked around and realized that in the course of the battle they had moved to the edge of the cliff that soared above the bay. A quick glance showed Nelson that the water beat at the base of the cliff, as Lee had told him it did. He turned to face Pritchard who was closer to the cliff.

The man was getting to his feet. His clothing was disheveled, and one eyes was already swelling shut from one of Nelson's blows. Even with the split lip from the first strike, he managed to smirk at Nelson. "It's over, Nelson. We'll have Houseman and Crane soon. I was going to make sure it was fast for you before, but now I think I'll let Ortiz take his time and I think I'll have him start with Crane. You can watch your 'son' die before you join him." He taunted. His eye grew large as Nelson suddenly rushed toward him, barreling into his larger form and carrying them both over the side of the cliff.

As they fell, Nelson pushed Pritchard away and had time to wonder if the water was going to be deep enough to break their fall.

Chapter 21

Morton paced the control room. They had sat in silence for almost twenty minutes now, waiting for the Tantalus to pass them. It seemed Williams was being cautious however. He had obviously been spooked by the disappearance of the larger submarine and had reduced his speed. Riley was still picking up their propellers, but they were moving at only half speed now and were zigzagging back and forth. Morton wasn't sure if Williams was attempting to make it difficult to target him or if he was running a search pattern of sorts, looking for the Seaview. In any event, they were coming closer.

It was almost time to start the second part of the plan. Morton followed the Tantalus' course on the chart. If they kept up their current pattern, the next zig would carry them past where the Seaview was hiding. They had maneuvered into a small canyon in the side of the seamount, probably resulting from a massive undersea slide. They had backed in and were now sitting and waiting, blending into the seamount in much the same way the Tantalus had been earlier. Morton looked around. Everyone was ready. Sharkey was still at the laser controls, fingering the dials and checking and rechecking the calibration. It was a sign of his nervousness perhaps that he wasn't asking questions. His job was going to be one of the most difficult. Everyone else was concentrating too. Morton almost envied them their jobs, as his own was providing no such distraction from the thoughts that were in his mind. He paced some more.

A few minutes passed and Riley raised a hand to attract O'Brien's attention. The second mate went to the station and took up the other pair of earphones. The two men listened for several minutes then O'Brien nodded and put down the phones. He walked back to the charting table and nodded at Morton.

"They've passed by, Sir, still moving at half speed. They are moving to the south and east now on 110, at three hundred feet."

Morton nodded. "Take us out, Bobby, dead slow. And mind the paint." He said. As O'Brien passed on the order with a grin in his direction, Morton headed back to the radio shack. Hickock, who had been pacing on the opposite side of the control room, met him there. They exchanged a look. They waited another five minutes before O'Brien came back and nodded again.

"We're on their tail again, Sir. One thousand yards and matching their speed and course, as ordered. Everyone is standing by." He reported.

Morton looked at Sparks who was ready and waiting and then looked toward the nose where Sharkey nodded his readiness. "Set me up on the same frequency as before." He said to Sparks. "Let's let them know we're here."

"Attention Tantalus. This is the USSRN Seaview. You have perpetrated an act of hostility on this vessel. Under international law we are placing your captain and officers under arrest. If you do not surface immediately and allow us to board, we will be forced to fire on you again. You have five minutes to comply." He dropped the mic and looked at Sparks. "Are you sure they can't pin point our position from that?"

The radioman nodded. "Yes, Sir. The only thing they can get a lock on will be the buoy. Other than that, as far as they'll be able to tell we could be broadcasting from Santa Barbara." Sparks was using a newly developed technology that allowed them to use a small buoy on the surface to broadcast their signal to a satellite. The signal was sent to the buoy as a type of 'packet' and was almost untraceable by nearby detectors. There was a short delay in transmission, but not enough to be noticeable.

O'Brien was back at the sonar. "All stop." He called to the helm. He looked at Morton. "They've stopped, Sir….. and they've just gone active on their sonar."

"Wait until their sweep is about to hit us and then go active, Kowalski." The rating nodded his understanding. "Bobby, let them come at us until they are no closer than seven hundred fifty yards. If they do fire on us I don't want a repeat of the last time."

"Here it comes, Sir. They were scanning forward first and it's moving around now. Going active…..now." They all could hear the outgoing ping and Morton smiled as he realized that Kowalski had turned the gain up all the way. The ping would hit the Tantalus like a wave. It was a declaration of war.

"They're moving, coming around." Kowalski reported.

"Helm, reverse course. All back half speed."

"They're moving to flank speed, Sir" Riley reported from the hydrophone.

"All back full." O'Brien ordered.

"Have them load one and three, Bobby. Just in case this doesn't work."

"Load one and three, aye, Sir."

"900 yards." Kowalski called.

"Get ready, Chief." Morton said. Sharkey was looking through the laser sight and nodded.

"Ready, Sir." he said.

"850 yards." Kowalski called.

"Make it look good, Bobby." Morton said. O'Brien nodded and had the helm make several zigs and zags instead of backing straight up. He made no move to up their speed.

"I have a charge building up, Sir, same as before." Chance called out.

"775 Yards." Kowalski reported. He cast a glance at Morton. Chip knew they were wondering how close he would let the other boat come, knowing its weapon's effectiveness. "755 yards."

"Sharkey, fire!" Morton snapped. The lights flickered as the laser sucked power out of the system. A second dip came moments later. Patterson, who had been monitoring the long-range cameras, let out a yell.

"Direct hit, Sir, both shots. The first one hit their firing port on the starboard side; the second went through the nose about two feet above it. The hull is breached." As he finished speaking Riley and Kowalski both jerked their headphones off in discomfort.

"I think that weapon just blew up, Sir. There was a definite explosion." Riley reported. He put the phones back on. "They're dead in the water, Sir. I think the explosion was from their engine room."

"All that charge must have fed back on their generators." Hickock reflected. "It had to go somewhere. The generators would have overloaded. One or more of them probably blew. They won't be going anywhere without a lot of help."

"They're going down, Sir. Three twenty five, three thirty, three forty." Kowalski said.

"What's the depth here?" Morton asked.

"Five twenty five." O'Brien replied.

"Well above their crush depth. But we'll need to find out how much damage they've had inside. Lee said that their compartments were too big, not enough structural bulkheads. They could have lost their entire aft section if the watertights are in a bad place."

"Mr. Morton, I have an incoming call from the Tantalus." Sparks called. Morton and Hickock went back. "This man says he's the XO. He won't give a name, only that Captain Williams has been relieved of command and is under guard. They want to talk surrender."

"No surprise there. The People's Republic crew is likely to shoot him. This is going to cause an international incident and their government doesn't appreciate that." Hickock noted. Morton nodded. He picked up the mic.

"This is Commander Morton, Tantalus. What is your damage?"

"We have no control, Seaview. We are going to the bottom. We have a hull breach in the forward compartment. It is contained. We have extensive damage in our engine room. Three of our generators are out. We have power enough for our environmental controls and emergency lighting. There was no damage to the reactor. We will be able to maintain our atmosphere until rescued. We have lost twelve crewmen." The last was added on as an afterthought it seemed.

Morton could hear the very definite accent in the man's voice. He had no doubt who was now in charge on the Tantalus. He was sorry to hear about the deaths, but he knew it could have as easily been the Seaview heading to the bottom, again. He lifted the mic again. "We'll notify the authorities regarding your situation. We've already got ships moving into the area. We'll put out a call for a rescue vehicle as well. Stand by." He didn't want them calling in the People's Republic ships. The Tantalus was an American registered ship, in NATO waters, with at least the remains of a powerful weapon aboard her and they didn't need any complications. He knew that he could have ships here within a few hours at the most in any event so he wasn't reluctant to stretch the truth. There was no way he was going to take them aboard Seaview however. Aside from the fact that their own resources would be stretched to the maximum having so many people aboard, but to have People's Republic submariners aboard was out of the question.

He looked at Sparks. "Get me the President." He ordered and looked at Hickock with a raised eyebrow.

The older man shook his head. "I don't need to talk to him. You've handled it just fine so far. How long you figure we have to stick around here?"

Morton understood the man's desire to get back to the island, but he was bound by his duty. You just didn't leave a boat on the bottom with no help. If the environmental system should fail on the Tantalus they might have no choice about taking the men on board. Once there was other help on hand, THEN they could leave. Morton knew the wait was going to be hell though, for all of them.

Chapter 22

"Who the hell are you?"

Lee Crane would be hard put to say which of the two of them was more startled. He pasted a smile on his face, and using just about all the Greek he knew he spewed out a sentence. He was betting the man didn't speak Greek. It seemed his gamble had paid off as the blond man scowled.

"Speak English. I don't speak none of that crap." The man said loudly as if that would make Crane understand.

Crane made a show of trying to speak English, putting as much accent in it as possible. "No power in kitchen." He said, waving his hand upward. He had seen that there was a kitchen on the top level and figured that if he could send the man off to check it out, that should give him enough time to get done what he needed to do. The big blond stared at him then stomped down the hall toward another room. Crane remembered it as the electrical control room. The big man slammed into the room and went to one of the boards. There was a schematic of the dome on the board, with lights at several different places, main power nodes. Good information to have. He memorized the layout as he watched the other man flip several switches.

"Don't see no problem. What's wrong up there?" He asked. Crane shrugged eloquently, drawing a curse. "They coulda at least sent someone that talks English." He muttered to himself. He grabbed a toolbox that was sitting near the door and headed out, muttering to himself. He didn't seem to notice that Crane didn't follow him up the stairs.

Crane went out of the electrical room and back to the environmental control room where he had been heading the first time. He closed the door behind him and went immediately to the nearest panel. It didn't take long for him to see how everything worked. He had to accomplish two things. He had to disable the environmental system and he had to create a crisis that would make the personnel evacuate the facility. Just disabling the environmental controls would not be enough. The dome held enough air to keep a good number of people alive for quite a long time. It was a safety measure. If he knocked out the batteries it would get dark and cold, but people could still remain. What he needed was a problem that would necessitate evacuation, immediate evacuation.

He knew that the DSV could, in an emergency, take 10 people to the surface. They would have to end up in a raft, but then it could come back for more. He didn't believe that there could be more than 20 people down here, what would be the need? The more people involved, the more that needed to be bribed or disposed of. Crane swiftly disabled the environmental controls, smashing all the computer boards. He couldn't see them having more than one replacement on hand. He performed similar destruction on the other panels.

He then turned his attention to the CO2 scrubber. One of the fastest ways he knew to render an undersea facility uninhabitable was to raise the CO2 level. He looked over the machine, recognizing what he needed to do. It didn't take long for him to rig the machine so that instead of doing what it was supposed to be doing it was in fact doing the opposite. The more they tried to fix it, the worse it would get. He looked around carefully, finding a smaller backup unit that he permanently disabled. He then turned to the oxygen production unit. Once he disabled this unit the CO2 levels would rise rapidly. He was pulling the last of the connections when he was grabbed by one shoulder and thrown back against the wall.

He slammed into the wall and slid down, shaking his head. The large blond man stood over him, looking from him to the obvious destruction around the room. The big man growled and then bent down and grabbed the front of Crane's borrowed coveralls. He hauled Crane to his feet and slammed him against the wall again, not releasing his hold.

"You son of a…." His curse was cut off as Crane grabbed one of his hands in a martial arts hold and twisted, breaking his grasp on the coveralls. Crane applied the same grip to the other hand and snapped an elbow into the man's face. The bigger man staggered back, a surprised look on his face. Crane suspected that at his size he didn't have too many battles and those he did have went his way. Crane pressed his advantage, closing on the man and delivering a series of blows to the man's exposed stomach. The other man swung a roundhouse blow at his head, which Crane ducked, knowing it would probably would have taken his head off had it landed. He took a blow to the side that felt like it caved in his entire rib cage and danced away from the lumbering giant. He used his speed to circle around the man and landed several blows into the kidneys before the man could turn. Another huge fist came his way. He blocked it with his arm and almost yelled when he heard and felt one of the bones in his forearm break. At least it was his left arm.

He knew he had to end this quickly. The man was hurt, blood was running into his eyes from one of the blows Crane had landed, but he was still fighting. Most men would have been down by now. Crane caught sight of a large crescent wrench leaning against one panel as he danced out of the way of another blow. He began maneuvering back in that direction, having to dodge several more blows and getting in several of his own. The man was bloody and swearing but still on his feet and still throwing punches that if they landed would probably cripple him. When Crane had managed to get to where he wanted to be, he allowed a blow to glance against him and threw himself backward, rolling to a stop near the wrench. He lay there as if dazed and let the other man close in. He heard the satisfied growl as the bigger man leaned down and grabbed the shoulder of his coveralls. He was glad for the extra material, as he was sure his shoulder would not have benefited from the man's grip.

The blond flipped him over easily, and Crane let the momentum carry him around as he brought up the wrench. It slammed against the man's head with a dull 'thunk' and Crane watched as the angry blue eyes first went blank and then rolled up into the head. It was a sign of how exhausted he was that he could not get out of the way in time and found himself buried under the unconscious hulk. He rolled the man off, using his good arm and lay there for a moment waiting for his breathing to slow. So far it had been a hell of a day.

He finally struggled back up to his feet and waited for his head to stop spinning. Shaking off the weakness he went to the far corner of the room where he had seen some rolls of thin electrical wire. He used several of the small rolls to bind the larger man and stuffed a clean rag in his mouth. He would make sure that the man got out of the facility if he could, but until then he needed to be sure that he wouldn't warn anyone.

Once that was done he turned his attention back to the oxygen generator. It was already in bad shape, but he now rendered it completely useless. He glanced at the one board he had not disabled. It was the one that monitored the levels of oxygen, nitrogen and CO2. He was pleased to see that even in the short time since he had altered the scrubber the level had edged up noticeably. Now he needed a way to help it rise more quickly. He moved to the next room.

This was the battery room, which provided all the electrical power for the facility. Normally he could disable the batteries and that would put paid to their control panels, but Nelson had mentioned some redundant systems that were located in the control room itself. Even if he killed the power from here, they could still use the system. That wouldn't do. So he had to force them out. He went to the large battery banks and opened up one of the containers. As he suspected, they had used the regular type of acid based battery. He retraced his steps back to the hall and found a small cleaning closet not unlike the one on the floor above. He spotted the same cleaning chemicals that he had found upstairs and grabbed the gallon-sized bottles that he wanted.

He went back to the battery room and after opening the first battery bank he opened the tops of the batteries. Once the inner tubes of the batteries that contained the acidic liquid that produced the electricity were exposed he poured some of the cleaning fluid into them. They immediately began foaming. White froth bubbled from the batteries and began cascading over the sides of the batteries. Crane knew that would keep up until all the acid inside the battery was gone. The batteries would continue to produce power until there was no more acid. He should have plenty of time to get in position for the next step. He opened the second bank of batteries and then the third, using the last of the cleaning fluid. The foam was now completely covering the batteries and he could tell the CO2 was building. He was having trouble catching his breath.

He made a quick check back in the environmental room. The total CO2 level was rising nicely. Before he left the room he knocked the pipe feeding from the oxygen generator into the ventilation ducting off its base. With the pipe gone he could hear the faint sound of the ventilation fans, fans that would now be carrying the CO2 more rapidly throughout the facility. He glanced over his shoulder at the monitoring board. Yes, they were going up quite well. He knew that the alarm would sound at a set point well below any dangerous level.

He went to stand near the unconscious man. He considered the bulk of him and then looked down at his broken arm that he had been cradling against his chest as he worked. He was not going to be able to carry him. He went back into the hall and thoughtfully studied the map. There was one possibility that should work. He went back and grabbed the man by the wire that connected his feet and after a moment of difficulty overcoming his inertia, started dragging him out to the hall. Once there he went to the small freight elevator that led to the next floor near the airlock. He would deposit the man in the rear of the small submersible. That way when they went to evacuate he would be safe. There was a storage locker that should just about take the man's bulk if it didn't have a lot of other stuff in it.

Twenty minutes later, sweating and breathing far harder than he should have been, he was closing the airlock behind him once again. The big, blond man was more or less comfortably stuffed into the storage locker at the rear of the DSV. Crane had been forced to remove a few items, but had finally succeeded. Of course now his left arm ached horribly and he knew that before he continued he would have to do something about it. He visualized the map of the facility. The sickbay/first aid station was up on the top floor and he really didn't want to venture there yet. He had already had to dodge another person passing in the hall. A quick glance at his watch, which he had been forced to move to the right wrist because of the swelling, along with his ring, showed him it was now just after 0100. He had been here forever, it seemed.

He tried not to think about what might be happening on the island. Had Nelson gotten Houseman to go along? Had they managed to escape during the time the lights were out? Had they gone to the south bay and seen the DSV was gone and waited? Had Nelson sought another manner of escape? He hoped so. At this rate he was not going to be there anytime soon. He was of two minds on Houseman. He blamed the man for allowing the thing he had created to be used in such a way, but had to remember that he was ill. He wasn't sure if he would go with Nelson or not. He hoped that he did, just so Nelson would not be forced to deal with the man in another way. The admiral had been very determined that Houseman's research should not be allowed to continue without very stringent safeguards. Safeguards he wasn't sure anyone, including their own government, would provide. Crane knew the moral dilemma that could result if Houseman refused to go and wished he could spare Nelson that.

Turning his mind back to his own task. He crept down the hall in the direction the people that he had hidden from had disappeared. He suspected they were technicians, probably Houseman's assistants. Something was obviously going on. If they were planning on moving their control systems to the Tantalus, he would expect this kind of activity so late, or so early, in the day. That must be why Ortiz and Lucinda had come down, to make sure that the work got done in a timely manner. After all, the assistants were probably not as motivated as the others to make sure that they maintained their control of the situation.

Crane looked at his watch again. The CO2 level should be reaching a level that should set off the monitors soon. In fact he was surprised that the lower level alarm hadn't gone off already. As if thought had given cause enough, an alarm started sounding. A panel on the wall of the hallway began flashing. Crane heard cursing from ahead, and looked around for a place to hide. There didn't seem to be anywhere to go. He was near the stairs leading up to the top floor and he ran up them quickly. He emerged on the top floor just as several men were stumbling out of their rooms. Only about ten people appeared and Crane was sure his estimate of no more than 20 total was a good one. None seemed to be of the same caliber of the guards at the house and he suspected these were also technicians.

He pointed dramatically down the stairs. "The oxygen generator is not working. The CO2 is building up too fast. Everything is trashed. We're gonna have to evacuate!" He yelled. Everyone stared at him "Right now!" He added. That seemed to break the spell and everyone disappeared back into the rooms. In a matter of minutes they were streaming back out clutching assorted items. They hurried down the stairs and Crane hoped that would add to what was no doubt an already interesting level of confusion. By now someone would have been down to the lower level and have discovered the destruction.

He slipped into the sickbay. It did not take him long to locate the splints and some gauze bandage. It was awkward but he soon managed to get the arm stabilized. He wasn't sure that the break was realigned, but that was something Jaime would have to look at, that is if he managed to get out of here. The alarm had continued to sound and he was sure that was getting on everyone's nerves. He cautiously went back into the hall and went partly down the stairs until he could see down below. People were sitting on the lower stairs and there was a lot of activity in the hall. He retreated around the bend in the stairs and stood on the landing, listening. From what he could hear the head mechanic seemed to be missing and while everyone could see that the environmental systems were destroyed and the batteries were ruined, no one seemed to know exactly what to do. Finally he heard Ortiz's voice overriding the rest.

"Whoever did this is still here. We have to find them." He obviously indicated some of the people below. "You men will stay here and help with the search. The rest of you will go up in the DSV."

Crane nodded to himself. His plan was working. Not that it was a comfortable feeling, knowing that while half of the people would be gone, the remaining men would be searching for him. He watched from around the corner as people moved off toward the DSV docking area. He listened as Ortiz split the rest of the men into three groups, one to search each tier and went lightly back up the stairs. He needed a place to evade the initial search. He doubted that Ortiz would take it at face value, but it would take up time and the more time, the more CO2 built up. Eventually they would not be able to operate and would have to abandon the facility. It was up to him to evade them until then. He stopped by the airlock and dug in the locker there. He hung three of the emergency breathers from his belt. He might just need them.

He didn't try the sickbay again, having looked around when he was there. There were no hiding places there that would not quickly be revealed. He moved down to the end of the hall and entered the galley. A quick glance around yielded no obvious places, but then he wanted something more discrete. He went through the small kitchen and into a small laundry, nothing there either. He went into the small mess hall. He was getting ready to move on to one of the sleeping quarters when he saw it. A grin split his face.

He went to the wall and reaching up opened the grate over the ventilation shaft. It seemed that no matter where he went he always ended up back at the same place. Well, at least he was familiar with the venue. He could have pulled a chair over, but that would have looked suspicious. Instead he dragged himself up using his one hand and bracing his feet against the wall. The rubber soles of his shoes gave him some purchase and he managed to wiggle into the shaft as he heard the sound of voices down the hall. He had to move well into the shaft before he could turn around but he managed to get back and pull the grate closed as the voices got closer.

"…..anyway. I mean all the others were up here and it's not like one of them wouldn't have noticed." He heard a man saying. He watched through the grate as two men entered and started looking under the tables and in the larger cabinets. After a search of the kitchen and laundry they left. He waited until there were no more sounds from the rest of the floor and slid out of the duct. He noticed that the alarm, which had been silenced but not turned off, had escalated to the next level. The lights on the panel mounted on the wall of the mess hall were now blinking yellow. That meant that the CO2 level was rising swiftly now. It would not take long for it to reach red level. Ortiz and the others would have to leave then. They would not be able to return until they got some larger breathing apparatuses with greater capacities than those meant for emergencies. By that time he should be able to destroy the control center and get out.

He once again crept down the stairs until he could hear what was going on below. Ortiz was not pleased with the outcome of the search and they had evidently gotten word that the mechanic had been found on the DSV, unconscious. He had to smile as Ortiz raged around, cursing in two languages. Several of the men tried to explain that they would need to be evacuating soon and suggested that whoever had done this had already left. Evidently the DSV was back and waiting. Ortiz had refused to believe that the saboteur had left and had declared that no one was leaving until the person or persons responsible was found. Thus had begun the second round of searches. This time they stayed in one group and searched each level starting from the lowest level. Crane retreated to his familiar spot and watched as the room below was searched once again. This time he was able to see Ortiz, with Lucinda Pritchard following along, as they came into the galley. The two were sniping at each other the whole time they were there, watching the others search. The two stayed there in the galley and adjacent mess hall as the rest of the level was searched. When the searchers reported their lack of success, Ortiz was almost apoplectic.

Lucinda rose from where she was seated and yawned in the face of Ortiz's anger. "Okay you've exercised your manly prerogative of beating a dead horse as long as I can stand." She looked around at the rest. "Evacuate the facility." They looked from her to Ortiz as if weighing who they wanted to take orders from. She scowled at them. "It's MY name on those oh so generous checks you get, I suggest you do what I say." She reminded them and there was an exodus for the door. Ortiz went to stand over her but she just looked at him calmly and then turned to go. Ortiz grabbed her arm and jerked her around.

"Don't play your power games with me. You won't like the results." He growled at her. She jerked her arm free and glared at him.

"Don't put you hands on me again." She hissed. Catching the Latin man by surprise her hand came around and slapped against his cheek. Ortiz's head jerked to the side then swiveled slowly back to look at her. He grabbed her and pulled her against him, subduing her struggles easily.

"No woman treats me like that!" He said to her with a snarl. "So you think you can take what you want then throw me aside for Crane?" He shook her. "Well your pretty boy sailor is going to die and I'm going to make sure he isn't so pretty when I'm done with him."

She reached up and raked her nails down his cheek, forcing him to release her arms and stagger back. She quickly put a table between them. She leaned over and looked at him as he took his hand from his face, staring at the blood in disbelief. "Do your worst. Crane is nothing." She hissed. "I don't need him, or you, or any other man to get me to where I want to be. So far all you men have done is make things complicated and spend money. Like this place." She waved a hand. "Why couldn't we just put the control room in the house, or that expensive sardine can that they call a boat? They don't know where we are, so what does it matter where the controls are? Now we have a multi-million dollar piece of crap on the sea floor that we have to abandon because 'someone' has managed to mess it up." She moved away, keeping the table between them.

"You realize of course that it is probably one or more of the technicians that did this, don't you? Who else is there; this is a SECRET, isn't it? How would they have found this place? And if its one of the governments we're holding to ransom then why would they do this, and how did they get here? Have you seen any submarines? Have frogmen come knocking on the door? Your paranoia is amazing." She turned for the door and went toward it. "I'm leaving and I'm taking the rest of them with me. Why don't you just stay here and suffocate with your little fantasy saboteurs?" With that she left, leaving Ortiz standing there. From where he was hiding Crane could see Ortiz was shaking, with rage no doubt. He watched the man leave.

He waited almost five minutes and climbed out of the vent. He hoped he didn't have to get in there again. His ribs were killing him and his arm was throbbing. He was also breathless, getting a headache, and his mouth and nose were burning. He attributed the last three to the build up of CO2 in the atmosphere. The levels must be approaching 2% even here on the top levels. The lower level would be well over 5% now and approaching toxic. He took a breath from one of the emergency breathers. The oxygen mix helped to clean his head and ease the pounding. He worked his way down the stairs once again and listened. As he did he saw that the alarm had switched to red.

He heard nothing from below and he crept the rest of the way down the stairs. The level seemed to be deserted. He moved down the corridor, listening for any sign of remaining people. He was forced to put on the breather now, though he once again husbanded the supply. He came to what he knew to be the control room and opened the door. He entered and found himself looking at the panels that Nelson had described. There was a display above one panel that showed what Crane assumed to be the position of each satellite in orbit. Nelson was right; they could affect any part of the world at any given time. They had to be stopped.

He considered his options. He could physically destroy the panels, but they could be replaced. He thoughtfully eyed the computers, now the data, the locations of each satellite; that was irreplaceable. He was sure that they had not yet transferred the information to wherever they were going. He suspected the Tantalus had something to do with it all and knew her computers were able to take the data. Computers were not his specialty. That's was Chip's cup of tea, but he had managed to learn a few things from his friend over the years. One of those things was exactly how to damage a computer so that the data on it was useless and irretrievable.

He hacked the system using the skills that ONI had seen fit to teach him. For the most part it was simple as there were few safeguards. In a matter of moments he was in the control system and ordering the computer to erase all the data. He suspected that the various government agencies would prefer that he not do so, so that they could have the information themselves, but he was not going to take the chance. He pressed the key that would start the process. The computer asked for confirmation before starting the erasure he was reaching for the key when he was grabbed from behind and wrenched around. He felt a sense of déjà vu as he fell back against the panel. But this time instead of a hulking blond man, Ortiz stood behind him.

The man was obviously feeling the effects of the CO2. He was breathing hard and his eyes seemed glazed. His face was flushed. "You!" He growled, and charged toward Crane. The two men grappled. Crane lost the emergency breather almost at once, and knew that he didn't have long until he was in the same shape as Ortiz. The CO2 level was getting higher. It was only a matter of time until they would both be unconscious, and then dead.

Crane kicked Ortiz away from him, scrambling toward the panel and the keyboard. Ortiz caught him at the last second and dragged him away again. He was moving in a disjointed almost drunken manner, the effects of the CO2. Crane grappled with him again, grateful that he did not have to deal with Ortiz at his full potential. He felt several brutal blows against his kidneys. Once again he managed to toss the other man aside. Ortiz was having trouble getting to his feet and Crane took advantage of the moment. He threw himself at the keyboard and hit the key. The process started. He looked around on the floor, finally finding one of the breathers. He could now smell the sharp odor of the CO2 at high concentration. His ears were ringing and there were sparkles of light before his eyes. He leaned against the panel breathing in the oxygen. He looked at the computer screen where the indicator showed the progress of the erasure. It was going fast, already halfway done. He glanced over his shoulder at Ortiz.

Even knowing what Ortiz was, he couldn't leave the man to suffocate in the gas. He staggered to the other breather and went to where Ortiz was lying on the floor, and started to put the breather on. Where he got the strength Crane didn't know but Ortiz came up off the floor, pushing the slighter man away. He staggered toward the open door.

"Ortiz, the gas is toxic. You need oxygen!" Crane yelled after him and followed into the hall. Ortiz staggered against the wall, moving down the corridor. "Ortiz, I'm trying to keep you alive!" He tried again. Ortiz kept going. Crane saw where he was headed and moved faster, trying to stop him.

"You can't go down there. The concentration is lethal. The gas is heavier than air." He warned, moving to within arms length. He didn't know how the man was still on his feet. He should be unconscious by now. He grabbed an arm and tried to drag Ortiz back from the top of the stairs leading down to the lowest level. Ortiz growled something unintelligible and shook Crane off. It was easier than it should have been, but Crane was unsteady himself. Ortiz moved closer to the stairs. For some reason his mind seemed set on going below. Crane knew it was a death sentence if he did so. The CO2 level was well above 10% down there by now, well past lethal. He lunged forward again and this time Ortiz managed a coordinated blow that threw Crane back against the opposite wall.

He lay there; his breather knocked aside and tried to fight off the blackness that hovered on the edge of his sight. He knew if he passed out now he would not wake, ever. He didn't plan to die here. He blinked and dragged himself up to a seated position. Looking toward the opening to the stairs he saw that Ortiz was no longer there. There was only one place he could have gone. If he wasn't dead already he would be soon. The temperature would be near freezing down there, or lower, and the concentration of CO2 would render him unconscious almost immediately, once he fell into the thicker layer nearer the floor he would asphyxiate almost immediately. There was no way that Crane could save him with just the emergency breathers. He would need a full environmental suit.

He managed to drag himself to his feet and scooped up the breather. He could see that the air level was very low. He would need another soon. With a last glance at the opening to the lower level he went down the corridor to the emergency airlock and opened the locker. There was only one breather there. Either some of them had been used before the rest of the people evacuated or this was where the ones that had been brought ashore had come from. He was going to have to go back upstairs to get another. There were still two up there. He had to have one to use to get to the surface. That left him only a few minutes to finish what he was doing. He shivered in the dropping temperature.

He returned to the control room and looked again at the computer screen. It reported that the drives were now empty. The data was gone but, as Chip had shown him, it could still be retrieved by someone who knew what he or she were doing. He needed to destroy the drives. The problem was how to do it. He couldn't burn them; the CO2 wouldn't allow any flame he managed to start to burn. He didn't have time to disassemble the computer and take the drives. He had no magnet. The only thing he could think of was exposing the computer to one of the most corrosive liquids on earth, seawater. He had to breach the facility, but how?

His eyes scanned the room, finally landing on the environmental control panel. He saw that the level of CO2 was rising rapidly on all three levels and had reached a very high level on the lowest. It gave him an idea. CO2 was an unusual compound. Under normal circumstances it moved from a solid to a gas without stopping at the liquid stage, in a process known as sublimation. But it DID have a liquid stage, a very unstable liquid phase that could be established if the gas was put under pressure. Pressure like what would result if the level was closed off and the CO2 was allowed to build up. In that eventuality the gas would phase to liquid, and the pressure of the liquid would rise and the remaining gas would be compressed further.

The facility was a dome because it was one of the strongest forms in nature, able to resist the pressure of the water above, but it had an inherent flaw. It was vulnerable to excessive pressures from within. With a relatively small pressure build up at the base the whole facility would breach. He went to the panel and studied the switches that were there. He flipped first one and then another. That should have closed off the lower floor and the ventilation system. The pressure would start rising immediately. He staggered toward the door.

He could feel his energy fading quickly. He had to get to the next level and get the remaining breathers. He would use the emergency airlock there, and swim to the surface. At least he would try. With a broken arm, sore ribs, a headache and minor CO2 toxicity. He wasn't sure that he was up to the swim. He had estimated that the DSV had dove about one hundred feet before leveling off to dock with the facility. If that was the case he should be able to do it. The question then became where did he go from there. He had no idea how far out they were from the island. Normally a swim of anything up to several miles was not a problem, even without fins and a wet suit, but now he might have some difficulties. He shook off the doubts, knowing the mental attitude was more than 50% of any endeavor.

He went up the stairs as quickly as he could, discarding the breather as it ran out. By the time he reached the locker his head was pounding and he was seeing the flashes of light again. He took out the breathers and at the last minute put on an inflatable life vest. He hit the open switch on the air lock and struggled to get the breather on. He hit the switch to close the inner door and waited for it to seat before he hit the cycle button that would flood the chamber and open the outer door. The water started flooding in, adding to the chill he already felt. Better add mild hypothermia to the list. The CO2 had lowered the temperature in the facility well below what was comfortable, but he had just stopped noticing it.

The water stopped pouring in and the outer door began to rise, but stopped barely five inches up. Crane looked toward the inner door, and saw that the light from the port was gone. The power had finally gone, the victim of the corrosive CO2 liquid and the depletion of the battery acid, no doubt. But knowing the reason was no comfort. There was no way he was going out a five-inch opening. He felt for the manual controls and started pumping the manual opener. The outer door slowly started rising again. It took a long minute before he could get enough of an opening to get out, a minute during which he had to use more air because of the effort. Before he tried to exit he switched to the last breather. Finally out, he oriented himself and kicked toward the surface.

He worked at equalizing the pressure in his ears as he went up, but he had only gone probably fifty feet before he found he had no more air. The breather must have been partially discharged. He pushed harder for the surface, using his good arm and his legs. He was a good swimmer but his body was tired, he just didn't seem to be making any progress. He was able to see the light from the surface now. He remembered that the moon had been shining strongly and with the clear waters it would penetrate well. He took off the small breathing tank as it ran out and pushed even harder. He had to make it to the surface. He was concentrating so hard on making it that when he reached the surface he was almost startled.

He turned over onto his back and pulled the cord on the life vest, grateful that he would not have to keep himself afloat. He wasn't sure he could have. He floated there, just letting his lungs get used to the fresh air, his body limp. It was so peaceful. The moon shone brightly, and the waves rocked him gently. He blinked lazily at the moon. It was beautiful, shining like gold in the star packed sky. He was warmer now and a pleasant lassitude came over him. He blinked heavy eyelids again and this time his eyes didn't open. His job was completed. He was so very tired.

Chapter 23

Nelson hit the water in an upright position, feet first. No use surviving the fall only to break his neck if the water was too shallow; better a leg in that case. He plunged in and, by the time his momentum slowed, he still hadn't hit bottom. He swam back to the surface and looked around. There was no sign of Pritchard. Nelson didn't even know if he could swim. There was no way for him to find the other man, even if he were inclined to do so, so he struck out across the bay toward the dock. Looking back over his shoulder he could see men on the cliff from which he had fallen, directing flashlights at the water below. He hoped they kept occupied with that and didn't send anyone down to the dock. He paused in his swimming and looked ahead. He was cheered to see that Houseman had reached the dock and was pushing one of the boats away from it. Nelson decided to give the man the benefit of the doubt and assume that he had seen him take the plunge off the cliff and was coming to get him, not that the scientist was simply leaving. He struck out again and got a hold on one side of the boat as Houseman jerked the engine to life. His doubt was confirmed as Houseman jerked around with a squawk and started to lift one of the oars from the bottom of the boat to take a swing at Nelson.

"It's me, Houseman. I'm rather fond of my skull as it is, thank you. Let's get out of here." He said as he pulled himself over the side of the boat. Houseman stared at him for a moment, then sat down and twisted the handle on the motor. The small boat surged forward as Nelson seated himself on the seat in the bow. It wasn't exactly what he would have chosen for taking to the high seas, but if Bligh could navigate a lifeboat a thousand miles, then he should be able to find the Greek mainland. Houseman had aimed at the mouth of the bay and they were making good enough time. Nelson looked back at the dock and could see some forms milling around, but they seemed to be disinclined to follow in the other boat. It had appeared to be equipped like this one and he suspected that none of the men were particularly familiar with boats. Their skills seemed to be in other areas.

He looked back at Houseman. "We have to get to the south bay. Captain Crane will be trying to get the DSV so we can go to the facility. We should attempt to join him if we are not too late. He was only going to wait for us a certain time." He said. There should be no trouble following the curve of the island, but he suspected that they would be too late to join Lee on the DSV. It would be past thirty minutes by the time they could get there and he suspected that the guards might be wondering where the younger man had gone, and would be searching the island for him. The bay would be a natural place to search.

He had faith that Crane would do what had to be done, despite his own feelings about leaving Nelson behind. However he would feel better being in the area in case Crane should need help. It seemed the young man had issues with his exit strategies. Too often he had focused on the mission results and not his own wellbeing.

"Why do you want to go there? We need to get away from here." Houseman asked.

Nelson shook his head. "I'm not leaving without Crane. As to why we need to get to the facility, we need destroy your research, otherwise they will use it…" That was as far as he got before Houseman let go of the tiller and stood, rocking the boat. "Sit down you fool!" Nelson demanded, grabbing the sides of the boat and trying to keep it steady.

"You want to destroy my research!" Houseman yelled. He staggered toward Nelson, his hands out to grab him. Nelson let him come and then kicked him in the knee. Houseman howled and fell back on the rear seat, barely stopping himself from falling overboard. Nelson cautiously moved back beside Houseman and pulled his arm up behind him. He leaned over, his weight pulling the arm up uncomfortably. Houseman grunted in pain.

"You will listen to me, and listen well." Nelson growled. He was tired of all this and he didn't intend to cater to the delusions of this man any further. "Your research is not going to be left in the hands of people that are willing to hold the whole world to ransom. Whether you can duplicate it in the future or not is a concern for someone else. My only concern is making sure that these people do not use it to end civilization as we know it. Now, you have two choices: you can move, slowly and carefully, to the bow and sit there quietly while I steer this boat; alternately you can jump over the side and take your chances with getting back to shore and evading the guards. Quite frankly I currently do not care which it is. It is up to you." With that he used his grip to lever Houseman up to his knees, ignoring his howl of pain, and turned him toward the bow. He released him with a shove.

He watched, not really caring as to the decision that was made. He was finding to his own surprise that he was vastly tired of this whole thing. He wanted to find Lee, destroy the facility and get back to the Seaview. He wanted to simply get aboard her and head out to points unknown, tell Sparks to accept no calls and simply enjoy the peace and quiet. After all, what good was it to have a submarine if you couldn't get away from it all? For the last year it had been one thing after another, and now this. He didn't know where Lee was, he may have just killed Pritchard, however unintentionally, and he was now stuck in a boat with a man that he did not doubt would do the whole thing again just to further his own research, despite the consequences. How blind could one man be? Houseman seated himself in the bow and seemed to draw in on himself, rocking gently.

Nelson headed the boat south at its top speed, frustrated when it was just slightly faster than rowing would have been. This was not a mode of transport that he would recommend. He had just rounded a headland and could see what appeared to be the mouth of the south bay when the motor stopped. The current instantly began carrying them away from the island. Nelson growled and tried to restart the motor, but it defied his attempts. They were rapidly moving away from the island now, caught in the main part of the current. Nelson knew that he would have to get them out of the current first, and then try to make it back to the bay. He put the oars in the locks and moved to the center seat.

It had been a number of years since he had been on the rowing team at Annapolis. In fact that may have been the last time he had used oars. It took him several tries to get the coordinated movement going, but then he found himself moving instinctively, hearing the coxswain's call in his head keeping him on pace. He found immediately that rowing against the current was useless. Maybe a team of men could have done it, but he could not. Instead he steered perpendicular to the current and rowed with all his strength. He tried to ignore that they were being carried further away from the island, and kept rowing. Eventually he noted that he did not have to correct in that direction as much. Then almost as suddenly as it was there, the current was gone, and he was headed straight.

He stopped rowing and looked around trying to get his bearings. Having stopped, his shoulders took the opportunity to let him know just how long it had been since they had been forced to make such movements. He leaned against the oars, looking for the bay. They had been carried at least two miles south of the island, and the mouth of the bay. He would at least not have to cross the current again to get into the mouth. He began rowing again his back to the island, keeping his course by the stars. As he moved, falling back into the rhythm of the rowing, his thoughts went to Crane who by now would have gone to the facility on his own. He could only hope that he was having an easier time of it.

Chapter 24

Chip Morton scowled at the nose. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with it or indeed with anything else on the Seaview. He was tired of waiting. They had reported to Washington that they had located and neutralized the Tantalus and had requested support ships. They had been ordered to remain on station until such ships arrived. Morton had neglected, with Hickock's blessing, to mention that they believed that Pritchard and the others were on an island less than 10 nautical miles away from where they were. It was that fact that had Morton in a sour mood. The Tantalus had stopped taking on water and was now simply waiting for rescue. There seemed to be no danger but Morton was reluctant to leave them there with no help. If he were in their situation he would appreciate anyone being nearby. Finally he slapped a hand down on the charting table.

"Sharkey!" He bellowed at the chief who had been hovering at a safe distance at the other end of the control room. He rushed up to stand at near attention.

"Yes, Sir?" he inquired.

"Get the FS1 ready to launch. I want Kowalski and one of the corpsmen. Five minutes." He ordered. A huge grin passed over the chief's face, then a frown.

"Uh…shouldn't I..."he began, but Morton was already shaking his head.

"I want you here. As soon as the ships arrive Mr. O'Brien will bring the Seaview to the island. Hopefully by that time we'll know where the admiral and the captain are."

"Aye, Sir" Sharkey said, though his tone showed his disappointment. He hurried off to get the landing party together. Morton watched him go, then turned back to find himself being studied by dark eyes. Hickock had come from the nose to stand on the other side of the chart table. He was practically vibrating with an energy that Morton recognized, having felt it himself as soon as he had made the decision.

"Don't imagine that there might be some room on that flying toy for an old admiral? I have some experience with sneaking around; could come in handy." The old man said persuasively.

Morton let his smile out. "I would be happy to have you along, Sir. I have found over the years that retired admirals do come in pretty handy."

Five minutes later Morton was going over the preflight with Kowalski while the others were strapping in. To no real surprise to Morton, it wasn't one of the corpsmen who appeared to take a seat; it was Jamieson himself, medical bag in tow. The doctor had simply raised an eyebrow at Morton's grin and seated himself next to Hickock. Minutes later they were launching. Morton gained speed and then launched the small craft into the air. He really preferred to handle her under the water, but he felt a need to get to the island as quickly as possible and flying would have them there in minutes. The moonlit sea passed quickly beneath them, and they were soon within sight of the small island. Morton steered the craft in a circle around the island, getting a feeling for the lay of the land. He was surprised to see that the main house, situated as they had thought on the larger bay, was lit up, even given the hour. It was almost 0200 local time and they had expected everyone to be asleep.

It looked like they would have to go with their first plan, land in the smaller bay and go across the island to the house. It seemed to be the only structure of any size on the island and if Nelson and Crane were being held here it seemed the best place to start. He was coming around to head for the bay when Kowalski cried out.

"Mr. Morton! There's a small boat down there, headed for the bay. It looked like some kind of row boat or something." He said.

Morton frowned. He could think of no reason that a rowboat would be out in the middle of the night. It certainly wasn't fishermen, and there was no other island or larger ship nearby for the boat to have come from. It was out of place and that bothered Chip. He brought the FS1 around and made a pass over the boat. Kowalski looked at him.

"They saw us, Sir, and whoever it is was waving like crazy. I saw two people."

Morton nodded and looped back around. He thought quickly. He felt a sudden need to know who exactly was down there, and why. He landed the craft on the calm sea and maneuvered back to the small boat. Kowalski jumped up and went to open the rear hatch. He pushed it open and leaned out. The other men in the FS1, already watching in interest, all rose when the rating called out.

"Admiral Nelson? Is that you, Sir?" he asked. The others crowded around the hatch as they heard Nelson's voice answer back from the outside.

"Yes, it is, good to see you, Ski. Can you toss me a line?"

Kowalski tossed a line to the admiral and helped to bring the small boat in close enough for the two men to come aboard. It took both Nelson and Kowalski to get Houseman to move. As they entered the light of the FS1, Nelson squinted for a few moments and then looked around at the men who were watching him and Houseman, who was simply standing and staring at the deck. He smiled.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you. I think if I had to row that boat any further my arms would have fallen out of their sockets. It's been too long since I was on the rowing team."

"Hell, Harry," Observed Hickock, "I don't think I could do it then. But weren't you heading back toward the island? Funny way to make an escape."

Nelson shook his head. "I was supposed to meet Lee in the south bay almost an hour ago. By now he should have found a way to get to the control facility and destroy the computers and machines that control the ceta wave generators on the satellites."

"No...no..you can't…" Houseman murmured in an almost distracted tone. Nelson didn't even look his way.

"Shut up." He snapped. "This is Dr. Houseman, Gentlemen. We have him to thank for the creation of the ceta wave generators." The man looked up in a dazed fashion, found himself facing five pairs of disapproving eyes and sank back onto the bunk in the back of the FS1. Jamieson moved to his side and started doing an evaluation.

"We did a fly over of the island. We saw the house. It looked like every light in the place was on." Morton said.

"I'm afraid our escape didn't quite go as planned. Lee got away, but the doctor and I had a bit of …..difficulty, hence the rowboat, which started out as a motorboat. I guess we were lucky that they at least had oars." He looked at Morton, his eyes worried. "We need to get down there. I don't know exactly where it is, but they have an undersea facility somewhere near the bay. They are using a DSV to access it. We should be able to locate it quickly. Lee may need help."

"What exactly is he supposed to do, Harry, and how did you find out about it?" Hickock asked.

Nelson snorted, "Pritchard was so obliging as to let me read Dr. Houseman's research notes." There was a sound from the bunk that Nelson ignored. "It detailed very precisely exactly what they were using and what we had to do to destroy it. Lee had managed to get out of the cell we were being kept in the first night and looked around the house. Last night he uh….let's just say he eluded our captors again and went on a small tour of the island. When he saw the DSV in the smaller bay he knew it had to be the key to the facility. He should be there now, or else he's already completed the job and is back on the island looking for me. Let's go."

As Morton got the FS1 ready to dive, Jamieson, having finished with Houseman, looked at Nelson. "If you don't mind me saying you look a little worse for wear, Admiral. Is there any damage that isn't obvious?" he asked.

Nelson rolled his eyes. Leave it to Jaime to not pull any punches. He shook his head. "Except for the shoulders and some bruising that I expect will be pretty spectacular in a few hours, what you see is what you get."

"May I ask what happened? He," the doctor nodded toward Houseman, "isn't doing all that well, mentally, and can barely tell me his name much less what happened." He discreetly put his hand on Nelson's wrist and began taking his pulse as he waited for an answer. Nelson gave him a glare and then decided to ignore him.

"It was Pritchard. He caught us in the garden and we fought." He decided not to mention going over the cliff. "Houseman just seemed to….drift away after I told him that we were destroying his research."

"Hmm, probably a symptom of his pathology. I'm not a psychologist, but I'll take a look at him later. He's calm for now and I can't do much here." He reached out and turned Nelson's head to get a better look at the bruising around his eye. "Since you're here I'll assume you won, despite appearances." Jamieson said. Nelson nodded slightly, his attention on the forward window. Morton had dove the FS1 and they were now sweeping the ocean floor with the sonar.

"We know it can't be too far out, it took a short time for them to retrieve Houseman the first day we were here. But it has to be deep enough not to be seen from the surface." Nelson said to Morton, ignoring Jamieson's continued prodding.

Morton nodded and pulled up the chart on the computer screen. He ran a finger over one section. "There's a kind of canyon here. It looks like a large slide left a pretty deep hole right outside the north mouth of the bay. That might be the best place to start." He swung the small craft around and started toward the place he had indicated. They were just to the south of the mouth of the bay.

Kowalski started scanning the area as they approached with both the sonar and the hydrophone. It might be hard to see on the sonar, depending on where it was, but he had yet to hear an undersea facility that didn't have something going on, be it personnel talking, or machinery making noise. He was focusing more tightly on the area when he was forced to jerk the headphones off his ears. He shook his head as the others looked at him in concern.

"Something big just blew, Sir. It was a strange kind of thing; kinda like an implosion but different." He reported.

Nelson went pale and Morton swore under his breath. "Where?" He snapped.

"Straight ahead on this course, Sir, just under half a mile ahead." Kowalski reported, feeling his own anxiety rising. He had no doubt where his captain was now. If there was trouble, you could bet the Skipper was in the middle of it. Morton nodded and pushed the engines into the red zone.

Nelson could hear the engines straining but he said nothing, knowing why Morton was pushing the vessel to her limits and agreeing with the decision. He didn't know how Lee had done it, but he had no doubt that the captain was the reason for the explosion or implosion or whatever it was that Kowalski had heard. The question was had Lee managed to escape the facility before it blew or had he sacrificed himself to complete his duty? Knowing Crane, Nelson was not prepared to discount the latter. He felt his heart growing heavy and he sat forward in his seat as if he could hurry the craft along.

Morton guided the FS1 over the edge of the canyon and the lights from the vessel fell on a domed shape. All of the men on the FS1 had seen numerous undersea domes, some of them belonging to the Institute, but also some government facilities. Because of that familiarity they all knew instantly that what they were seeing was a facility that had been badly damaged.

The dome was no longer symmetrical. It was situated on a small shelf that looked to have been blasted out of the side of the canyon. No one could doubt that at one time it had sat squarely on the round foundation that had been built to mimic the rock it sat on. But now the dome was….sagging. One side seemed to have crumpled beneath its own weight and they could see a huge tear down one seam on the other side. There was no doubt the facility had been breached and it did not take much to see that the breach had come from the inside. Nelson could barely hold back the black despair that suddenly rose in the pit of his stomach. Lee.

Morton took them around the facility, the lights showing them an unforgiving view of the destroyed dome. They found the docking area for the DSV, now twisted and fallen from its supports, and completely useless. Bubbles rose from the wreck of the dome, shining in the lights and confirming that there were additional holes in the dome that they could not see. When Morton approached the split in the dome they could see into the twisted interior. The lips of the breach were flared out, revealing what appeared to be the remains of a compartment or corridor. There seemed little hope that there were any survivors inside.

Morton looked over his shoulder at Nelson and the admiral could see the same agony that he felt in the XO's blue eyes. There was also a pleading there, a desperate hope that somehow Nelson would have some evidence that Lee Crane had not been inside the dome when it had exploded; that he could pull something out of his hat as he had in the past. But Nelson could offer no solace to the younger man, or any of the others. He saw Kowalski staring at the wreckage of the dome, slowly shaking his head, the earphones back in place listening for anything that might indicate that someone, one particular someone, was alive inside.

Nelson let his eyes move over the wreck, avoiding those eyes looking to him for answers he didn't have. He followed the line of the docking arm, now detached and lying on the seafloor. The docking arm, the docking arm; where no DSV was docked. He looked at Morton.

"Take us back up, now! Take us into the bay." He ordered. Morton looked at him and saw something there that seemed to give him a modicum of hope. He turned to the controls and started to take them up, steering them toward the bay.

"You think he took the DSV?" He asked Nelson.

"It seems logical. There were no…bodies in the wreckage that I could see. That means that the facility was probably evacuated. You know Lee. He would do what he could to minimize the collateral damage. If he could get them off, there is no reason that he could not have done the same for himself."

"Your mouth to God's ears, Sir" Nelson heard Kowalski mutter under his breath. He pretended not to hear. They were soon entering the bay and Nelson rose and went to the screen that showed what the periscope mounted camera could see. Hickock joined him, watching over his shoulder. Morton brought them up to periscope depth, and then ran up the scope. Nelson panned it around and focused on the docking facility. He upped the magnification. They could see the DSV docked at the small facility on the edge of the bay. Nelson was not surprised to see several jeeps parked nearby and recognized several of the guards from the house. He also recognized Lucinda Pritchard, who seemed to be giving orders. As they watched, the people were being loaded into the jeeps, obviously in preparation for returning to the house. There was no sign of Crane among them.

Nelson knew there was no way that Lee would have remained free if he had been on the DSV. While those at the undersea facility might not recognize him, Lucinda Pritchard certainly would, as would the guards. He had half expected the guards but he didn't understand why she was there. They stayed there watching as they sorted everyone out and drove off up the road. Once the lights had faded Nelson snapped off the screen. He stood there staring at the blank screen for several minutes. He could feel the weight of the others' eyes upon him. He tried desperately to think. There had to be another place to look, somewhere besides the twisted wreckage of the dome, which offered no hope.

"Should we land and follow them to the house?" Morton asked. "Maybe he's been taken back there already."

Without replying Nelson reached out and switched the screen back on, scanning around the bay. There had been too many people for there to have been only one trip from the dome. Perhaps Lee had come before Lucinda showed up or managed to avoid the guards, and had slipped away into the brush. But as he scanned the area he could see nothing in the moonlight. He switched to the infrared scan but still could see nothing except for the residual heat of the vehicles and people. He stopped scanning and flipped back to the normal view. The screen was focused on the dock and DSV.

He stared at it, unseeing. He was hearing Lee's description of what he had found the night he had been here, going over it in his mind. He didn't have Crane's nearly perfect recall but he had honed his skills over the years at seminars as he hated to take notes, finding it distracting. He suddenly reached out and raised the magnification on the scope until the small awning covered enclosure filled the entire screen. Lee had told him about hiding and watching as the pilot had unloaded a box of emergency breathing apparatus, storing them there. He had also mention that he had dropped two over the side of the dock for future use. Emergency breathing apparatus that were just like those that were in the facility down below. Apparatus that could be used to escape the dome in the case of an emergency when there was no DSV available.

"Damn it. I left him out there alone." He said softly to himself. He shook it off and turned to look at Morton. "We need to get back to the area of the dome, but on the surface. Pull up a chart of the local currents. I know there is a strong current, almost like a riptide, running south that goes along the edge of the island. We need to follow it."

"You have an idea, Harry?" Hickock asked the question they were all wondering about. He too was hoping desperately that Nelson could pull a rabbit out of whatever hat he had available. He couldn't bear to think of Crane dying down there.

"There were emergency breathing apparatus in the facility. Lee could have used one to make it to the surface. If…..If he did," Nelson paused. "If he made it to the surface then he would be in the middle of that current, and we need to follow it."

Morton nodded and turned back to the controls. He headed toward the mouth of the bay, bringing up the chart as he did so. He glanced back at Nelson.

"Wouldn't he have made for the shore?" He asked. "Between the calm seas and the moonlight he should have been able to see the bulk of the island if not details. He could be on a beach somewhere."

Nelson shook his head. "We came around that way. There are no beaches. The cliff looked sheer. Besides that, he would have been caught in the current before he even surfaced. At the rate it was moving he would have been almost even with the mouth of the bay by the time he made it and, even if he did strike for the island, he would still be in the current and moving south." He reached around and ran a finger along the current on the chart. "I had a hell of a time rowing out of it. Even a strong swimmer like Lee would have a hard time getting out of it before it swept past the end of the island." He opened his hand over the open water south of the island. "He's out here, alone. We need to find him."

Morton looked at the empty ocean south of the island. It was large and it would not be easy to find a lone man in all of that, especially at night. Some would say it was impossible with only one craft. But in the last several years, the impossible had become their stock in trade and it wasn't going to change now. He steered the FS1 into the current and brought her close to the surface. He could feel the strength of the current as they moved in it and he realized that Nelson had read it correctly, if Lee was in this he wasn't going to get out before he was swept well away from the island.

Morton remembered another time when Crane had been in the water, that time in Alaska, and he had swum almost five miles to an island, with a broken leg. Surely he could handle a current like this. Of course that was assuming two things, one that he had actually made it to the surface and two that he was able to keep afloat when he got there. Morton had no illusions about the possibilities on either point. If Lee had escaped the dome, he would have had no trouble getting to the surface from the depth of the dome if he had an emergency breather. He was an experienced diver and knew to equalize the pressure. It might be tight on the air, but then Lee had good lung capacity and could stretch the supply. The problem was the whole thing depended on Crane escaping before the explosion, or at the very least not being in the area of the explosion if he was outside the dome at the time. Morton well knew the effects of underwater concussion on a diver.

The second point was no less in question. Crane had an uncanny ability to find himself in situations where he had to sacrifice himself for the success of the mission. He would not hesitate to put himself into physical danger to reach a goal. That meant that more often than not he ended up injured in some way, sometimes critically. If he had escaped the dome and made his way to the surface, only to be too weak to not only free himself from the current but also to keep himself afloat, then…Morton shook off that thought. Lee Crane was not going to drown in the warm winter waters of the Aegean. He wondered if the surface ships had arrived back at where the Tantalus had gone down. He wanted the Seaview here, looking for Lee, not sitting and waiting. He reached for his throat mic.

"Seaview this is FS1, come in." He said. There was a short wait.

"This is Seaview. Go ahead, Sir." Sparks replied.

"What's the status on the support ships? Any update on their ETA?" he asked, not bothering to ask for O'Brien. There was another pause. When the reply came it was O'Brien's voice that came over the radio.

"The first ship just came into range, at their current speed they should be here in the next thirty minutes. What is your status?" The last was asked with some anxiety.

"We have the admiral, but the captain is still missing. We think he may be in the ocean, swimming. We could use your help on a search pattern. As soon as that ship is on site, I want you to head for the south end of the island. Contact us when you are on the way and we will coordinate our search patterns."

"We'll be there as soon as possible, Sir. I'll pull the chart and work out a standard search grid using the island as a base. I assume that since you said the south end of the island that is going to be your starting point?" They worked out a quick plan and Morton began the sweep of the first grid. He noticed that Nelson was working out some figures on a clipboard that Hickock had retrieved for him. He finished and looked up at Morton.

"I've worked out the possible areas to which the current could have carried him, based on the time he might have surfaced and the strength of the current." He said. He ran a finger through the east part of the grid they were now working and into the next. "If he didn't swim out of it sooner, he should be between here and here." Morton nodded and swung the small craft around. He noticed that Kowalski was at the scanners concentrating on every blip, and ignoring the conversation around him. He knew the rating was just as concerned as he was about their young captain.

The problem was that a floating human was not easily seen on any type of regular scanning device that they had. It would be lucky if they managed to catch something. They could pass directly under Crane and never know it. He was of two minds on the best method of searching. He could take the FS1 to the surface but because of her low profile she did not offer a good platform from which to look over the area. Add to that the darkness and it made it an even toss up of staying below and covering more ground or traveling on the surface and being more through in a smaller area. When the Seaview got here, then they could put out men in the sail with night vision glasses. He could only hope that it wasn't too late. He decided that he didn't want to take the chance of missing Crane so he steered them back into the current and brought the FS1 to the surface.

"Kowalski, take the night visions and crack the top hatch." The rating nodded and went to the supply locker and then up the ladder. Morton looked at Jamieson, "Jaime, can you use the camera and the infrared." The doctor nodded and went to the screen and started panning the area with the camera. He would not be able to see the area close to the sub, but between he and Kowalski they would get better coverage. It had to be enough. Morton concentrated on keeping them in the middle of the current. He prayed it was enough.

Chapter 25

For Crane waking up was a new experience. He had never before woken up floating in a life vest. He guessed he was lucky that he hadn't ended up doing it face down. He frowned. There was something wrong with that thought but he wasn't sure what it was. His thoughts were foggy and dull. He brought himself upright in the water and looked around. He could no longer see the island! He looked up at the stars, trying to orient himself. He looked again to the west. No island. His eyes scanned back toward the north and saw what he realized was the black bulk of the island low on the horizon. He realized suddenly that he was floating south, carried by what appeared to be a strong current.

Well, that was going to make things more difficult. There was no way he was going to be able to swim against it with his broken arm. In fact he wasn't sure how much success he was going to have trying to swim out of it, perpendicular to the flow. He considered his position. Nelson would have no way of knowing that he had been forced to evacuate the dome in this manner. He would be expecting him to use the DSV. Of course if the admiral had managed to get to the south bay and had seen the DSV make its trip up with the first load of technicians and it's second including Lucinda Pritchard, then he would know that Crane would not be coming back that way.

The captain had never known anyone that could take random facts and build them into a cohesive picture as well as Nelson could. Once Nelson realized that Crane was not able to return in the DSV he would know that there had to be some other manner of escape. Since there were a rather narrow number of options, and he knew that Nelson was familiar with undersea domes, he knew it would occur to Nelson to consider that Crane had used an airlock. Of course knowing and being able to do anything about it were two different things. It was a bit much to expect Nelson to come to his rescue when he would have to be concerned with getting himself and Houseman off the island without Crane's help. That meant he needed to solve this on his own.

He looked again at the sky. He could tell by the moon's position that more than two hours had passed since he had first left the house. That meant that it was now after 0200. Dawn would be in another three and a half to four hours. If this current kept carrying him in the direction he was currently going he would be near the next island in the chain sometime around that time. It was not a palatable idea. He needed to get help for Nelson and four hours was more time than he might have. Once their absence was discovered they would start searching the island. It wasn't so large that there would be a lot of hiding places. There might even be aircraft which would make hiding even more difficult after the sun rose.

No, he had to do something. He couldn't just float along with the current. If he could get out of the main flow he could swim north and get back to the island. Once he was there he could work his way back to the bay and find Nelson. He turned on his right side and began executing an awkward one-armed crawl. The life vest helped him but it was not fast, or particularly effective. He was making progress however. As he swam his mind turned to the facility he had left behind.

He wondered if the CO2 had reached critical pressure yet. It had been building quickly and he knew that once it had dropped out of the gaseous state under the pressure of the closed system, it would not have taken long for it to reach a critical level. The dome was weakest at the bottom, and the increased pressure from within, coupled with the massive pressure of the overlying water, and its own weight would have proved catastrophic for the structure. He didn't know how much time had passed since he had left, but it had to have exploded by now. It should have been pretty spectacular.

He was shaken from his speculation by the startling appearance of a great yellow form pushing its way up from below. He was tossed to the side as the bow wave struck him and he tumbled through the water until the buoyancy of his vest brought him to the surface. He sputtered for a moment, coughing out water. He turned in the water, looking for what he knew had to be the FS1, his baby.

He found her, floating on the surface, about fifty feet away from him. He felt his confidence soar. If the FS1 was here, that meant the Seaview was here as well. And, if they were here looking for him, and there could be no other reason for them to be here, then they had to have already found Nelson, who would have told them where to look. He started swimming toward the craft. He was approaching from the rear and was only ten feet away when he heard the top hatch clanging open. He caught sight of someone moving around topside, but could not make out whom it was. Whoever it was he seemed to be looking the other direction.

Crane was glad that whoever was piloting the craft had decided to simply allow the current to carry them along. He was able to come up to her easily and moved to where he knew there was a ladder leading topside. He found it difficult to curl the hand of his broken arm around the rung, the swelling had progressed, but using his good arm for strength and his broken one for balance, he was able to finally pull himself out of the water completely. He hung there for a moment, leaning against the smooth skin of the small craft. He could feel the throb of her idling engines. It was a comforting feeling, familiar.

He pulled himself up the next step and then the next. Finally his head cleared the edge of the sub and he could see the form of the man on the top. His back was turned and, as Crane watched he turned slowly, his hands up before his face. Night vision glasses, that had to be what he had. They were looking for him. He smiled a bit and climbed the last few steps, ending up kneeling on the deck. He was surprised to find that his legs were not up to the job of standing. He looked at the figure concentrating on his task. He could see that the man was wearing coveralls and that his hair was dark; he was tall and thin. It had to be…

"Kowalski." He said, breathlessly, finding the effort almost too much. He smiled a little as he saw the rating jump and spin around.

"Skipper!" He said and ran across the deck to kneel at Crane's side, reaching out to put a hand on the slim, dripping shoulder. Crane found himself leaning into that strong hand, grinning at Kowalski's surprised face and then he was falling forward, unaware of the arms that caught him as he fell into the darkness.

Kowalski had been scanning the water with his binoculars, hoping against hope that he would spot the skipper. He knew how difficult it was to find a lone man in the water, especially at night. The only good thing about it was that it _was_ the skipper. He had seen the young captain survive stuff that no other man could have done. If anyone could survive whatever had happened to that dome and floating in the water this long, then it was Crane. He finished looking over the first quarter and moved to the next, moving slowly and methodically, not wanting to miss that small area that might be where the captain was.

He was just starting the next quarter when he heard a voice call his name from behind, a familiar voice. He jumped in surprise and spun around. There, kneeling on the deck near the access ladder was the skipper, dripping wet in dark pants, a white shirt and a life vest. He seemed to be swaying slightly. Kowalski dropped the glasses, not considering the damage he might do, and ran to the young captain's side. He knelt next to him and reached out to steady the swaying form. Crane smiled at him, then his eyes rolled up into his head and he passed out into the rating's arms. Ski was shocked at first, trying to keep Crane from falling face first into the deck, but then he realized that he needed help.

"Hey, Mr. Morton, Admiral, it's the skipper! He's here! Anybody! We need help!" He yelled, trying to turn the skipper over and cradling him against his chest. He was surprised to find he was unconsciously rocking the still form; trying to offer some form of comfort, he guessed. He could hear feet pounding up the ladder and to no surprise it was Nelson's red head that first came into sight. Jamieson and then Hickock closely followed the admiral. Kowalski knew that Mr. Morton was staying at the controls out of necessity and that nutty scientist guy hadn't moved a muscle since he had sat down on the bunk.

Nelson fell to his knees in front of Kowalski, his hand coming up to touch Crane's face. "Lee!" He cried in a pleading tone. The young captain was pale in the faint light produced by the running lights of the FS1. His skin was cold and he was soaked through. Nelson found himself pushed aside by Jamieson and he moved to crouch at Kowalski's shoulder, placing his hand on Crane's wet hair. He felt a need to be connected to the younger man in some way.

Jamieson knelt where Nelson had been and felt for Crane's pulse. He felt the coldness of his skin. It seemed he was colder than he should be, even after his time in the water. Pushing aside that concern, he counted the pulse and respirations. The pulse was a little fast but steady and the breathing while slow gave no sign of any difficulty. He could see that there seemed to be a splint on the young man's left arm but it was too dark to make any further examinations. He looked at Nelson and Hickock, who had moved to stand behind Nelson with a hand on his shoulder, and then at Kowalski.

"What happened, Ski?" He asked.

"He came up the access ladder. I didn't hear him until he was up here. He said my name. I almost jumped over the side I was so surprised. He was just kneeling here, swaying back and forth. I came over and he looked up at me then he just….passed out. I tried to keep him off the deck and called you." Kowalski reported. Jamieson nodded and stood.

"We need to get him aboard where I can see. We also need to get back to the Seaview. I don't know what else is going on, but he's too cold and he has what looks like a broken arm. I can't do much about either here." Jamieson said. Nelson nodded.

"Kowalski and I can carry him down. You go down first and get Houseman out of the way." Nelson said. He motioned for Ski to take Crane's legs and he gently slid his hands under the younger man's arms and locked his hands across Crane's chest. Together they carried him to the hatch, and then carefully maneuvered him down the ladder. Hickock picked up the forgotten glasses and followed, dogging the hatch behind him.

He dropped down in time to see Nelson and the rating lowering the unconscious form onto the bunk. Morton had turned his seat, his eyes on Crane, looking almost as pale. Jamieson was standing against the bulkhead with one hand on Houseman's arm, as if to hold him in place. The scientist's eyes seemed glazed and blank, but Hickock wasn't worried about him right now.

Jamieson had bent over Crane as soon as Nelson and Kowalski had moved aside, though Nelson had only moved to the head of the bunk where he could reach around and keep a hand on Crane's shoulder. Kowalski moved to Houseman's side as if to keep a watch on the man. Nelson looked over his shoulder at Morton whose eyes were on Crane.

"Jaime says we need to get back to the Seaview, Chip, ASAP. Will you be all right?" He asked. He could see how upset Morton was. The blue eyes switched to him and he saw the effort the young man made to pull his attention back to the matter at hand. The years of being XO allowed him to put his personal feeling behind him and simply do what had to be done. Later he might regret it, but that was later and he would deal with it then.

"I'm fine, sir. I'll have us back to the Seaview in a few minutes and I'll let them know we are coming." He said. With one last look at Crane's pale face he turned and started the FS1 moving. Kowalski took Houseman's arm, leading him to one of the seats and sitting next to him out of the way.

Jamieson was becoming more and more puzzled as he examined Crane. The captain was definitely colder than his time in the water warranted, he was also cyanotic. His lips were tinted blue, as were the beds of his nails. Jamieson used his stethoscope to listen to Crane's lungs. There seemed to be no obstruction and he was breathing easily. Jamieson could find no explanation for what had caused the lack of oxygen in his system. He would have to run some tests when they returned to the Seaview. He went ahead and drew some blood so that he could have it processed as soon as they arrived.

He turned his attention to the broken arm. He suspected the awkward splinting job had been done by the captain himself. It was crude but effective. As with most things he attempted Crane had made a difficult job look easy. Jamieson was not happy with the swelling in the hand, but there was little he could do right now. He loosened the splint, making sure there was no compound fracture or wound beneath the bandages. The break seemed to be a straightforward, simple break of the radius, but with Crane few things were ever straightforward.

There were several signs that Crane had been in at the least one fight in the last several hours. He removed the sodden shirt. There was a large bruise forming on the left side of his torso and various smaller bruises were starting to color. He probed the one on the ribs gently but didn't find any breaks. The doctor also found two separate lumps hidden in the curling wet hair, but a look at the pupils didn't show any signs of concussion. Crane was likely to be in considerable pain when he woke from the broken arm and the bruises, but Jamieson knew that he would not be able to give him anything for it until he had the results of the blood test back. He could not chance causing more damage. Not that Crane would complain; the man had a deep-seated dislike for pain medication. He would rather suffer in silence then ask for medication, a practice Jamieson refused to support. Finally, having done what he could, he stripped the captain out of the rest of his sopping clothes, and wrapped him in several blankets. He then looked up to find himself the cynosure of two pairs of keen eyes. Hickock and Nelson were both studying him closely, trying to read his expression.

"As I said he's cold, just on the edge of hypothermic as a matter of fact. That, I can deal with. He also appears to be slightly cyanotic. I'm not sure what is causing that, but I'll run some tests. He's bruised and has a couple of good-sized lumps on his head, but that's par for the course. I'm not too happy with the swelling in the arm but I think that's due to his using it and the tightness of the splint. Barring any unexpected results from the blood tests, I would say he'll be fine." He reported.

"Why's is he still unconscious, Jamie?" Nelson asked. "Surely he couldn't have gotten that cold in these waters. Even in the winter the water temperature is relatively warm."

"As I said I want to do some tests to be sure, but I think the unconsciousness is a result of a combination of the low body temperature and simple exhaustion. From what you've told us, Admiral, he hasn't eaten and he hasn't slept much on top of that." Jamieson gave a small laugh. "Not that any of that is particularly unusual for the captain but, in this case, add a lot of activity and the body simply shuts down."

Nelson and Hickock both nodded, their eyes straying to the still form. All three men looked forward as the small craft rocked and they realized they were docking with the Seaview. It seemed that Morton had made quick time returning. In a matter of moments they were docked and Sharkey was opening up the rear hatch.

The chief poked his head in the hatch, his eyes going first to the bunk, then to Nelson. He smiled at the admiral in genuine happiness. "Good to have you back, Sir. How is the Skipper?"

"The doctor thinks he'll be fine, Francis. Are the corpsmen standing by?" Nelson was sure that Morton had requested a stretcher team to be waiting.

"Yes, Sir, they're just outside. I wanted to uh…check to make sure everything was clear." The chief explained, though Nelson knew he had been anxious about the captain and had to see for himself. Jamieson coordinated the removal of the captain to the sickbay, leaving the rest of the men behind, with warnings of locking the doors if anyone showed up in the next hour. Morton excused himself to go and check in with O'Brien. He ordered Kowalski to stay and help deal with Houseman. Nelson looked at the scientist who sat unmoving in the seat. What to do with him? He knew there would be some very involved debriefing when they returned to Washington and he did not doubt there would be many agencies vying for information. Hickock saw the direction of his eyes and guessed what he was thinking.

"They'll suck every piece of information out of him and toss him in some nut ward somewhere under an assumed name. The technology will be duplicated within six months, maybe sooner if some of the more obscure agencies have extra funds available." Hickock said. Nelson turned considering eyes on him. He was sure that Hickock knew what he was talking about. After all, he had been part of it all for most of his career in the Navy. He swung around and started pacing.

It was incredibly distasteful to think that he and Lee had taken the chance to remove Houseman and his invention from Pritchard only to give him into the hands of men that Nelson considered as ruthless as Pritchard ever was. He had few illusions about what would happen to the information and how it would be used. He had seen too many times his own inventions, created for defense or for uses unrelated to warfare, turned into an offensive weapon. Supposedly those weapons were to be used only in the case of attack, but the very existence of such weapons weighed on his conscience. He did not care to add another burden. He also didn't want to face Crane, who had nearly given his life to destroy the control facility, and have to tell him that the same technology was now in someone else's hands. If anything, Crane was even more suspicious than he about the motives and morals of the clandestine community.

Hickock watched Nelson pace. He knew what the other man was thinking about, and why. He and Nelson had exchanged opinions regarding the proliferation of certain technologies for certain uses over the years, usually from opposite sides of the question. Having gained a different perspective over the last few years since his retirement, Hickock found himself considering Nelson's point of view. He now had three young grandchildren, grandchildren he intended on seeing grow up, and he didn't really savor the idea of putting their fate in the hands of the type of people that he had grown use to dealing with as director of ONI.

The ceta wave technology was a ticking bomb. Despite Houseman's ravings regarding the potential benefits of the waves, he could see little purpose to them beyond the use that Pritchard had put them to, a big stick to wave at the rest of the world. He could hear the justification for it now. 'If we don't develop it, someone else will' or 'We have to understand the technology to create a defense against it." He had agreed with the last for many years and still did in many instances, but not with this. This weapon could destroy them all. Only a madman, or a man with no scruples, would use it and risk the fate of the entire world. It was a weapon that needed to be out of reach.

Hickock looked at Nelson, considering. He then looked at the hatch where Sharkey was hovering, waiting for orders, and where he had watched a young man he cared about very much being carried away to sickbay only minutes before. Lee Crane had obviously given his all to make sure the technology wasn't used. He looked back at Nelson, seeing the bruises and exhaustion in the other man's face. Nelson had not elaborated on what had happened with Pritchard. That there had been some sort of physical showdown between the two when Nelson and Houseman had escaped was obvious. What was not so obvious was the result of that battle. He knew that Nelson had killed before, in the course of his duties as both a naval officer and as an ONI agent. He also knew that for Nelson, the fact that Pritchard might have deserved whatever he got was not a consideration. Hickock heaved a sigh and moved to intercept Nelson on his next pass. Nelson pulled up short when he found Hickock in his path. He started to circle around, needing to move while he thought, but something in Hickock's eyes made him stop. Hickock leaned toward him and spoke in a low voice.

"They aren't the only ones that can make a man disappear, Harry. If you have enough money and know the right people, then it can get done. Say we were to put in at Athens this morning, before any reports were made. I could make some calls and have him taken to a….facility where he'll get the care he needs and no one needs to know his real name. Can you trust the men that have seen him? And I mean can you REALLY trust them?" Hickock said.

Nelson looked at Kowalski who was pretending he wasn't listening and then at Sharkey who was making no such pretense. He thought about Morton and Jamieson. He nodded his head and looked back at Hickock. "To be frank, I would trust any of THEM with my life, you on the other hand, I would not." It was blunt, but he was not going to pull any punches. This was too important.

Hickock smiled. "I'm wounded, Harry. I thought we were building a rapport here." He said in a patently false sad voice. He saw the disbelief in Nelson's eyes and grinned, then became serious. "You don't have to trust me, Harry. My neck will be in the noose further than yours. I'll make the arrangements, you pay the bills, and Houseman simply disappears off the island never to be seen again. He gets the help he needs, no one gets hurt, no one dies, and no weapon is produced." He moved around the still Nelson, leaning in, his voice persuasive.

"Think about it, Harry. You're the only one beside Houseman that read all those notes; that saw that list. You're the only one that knows what satellites have the generators in them and what frequencies are being used to control them. Lee somehow managed to do a damn fine job of destroying that facility. If Houseman is gone and you just happen to omit that little tidbit of information about what you know from your report, then the ceta waves become a flash in the pan that will be forgotten by next week when the next crisis comes along. I know how these people think, they have short attention spans. They'll put out alerts for Houseman, but over time that will go away too. It's up to you, Harry. I'm not sure what you had to do to get here and I damn sure don't want whatever Lee had to do to be for nothing." He was silent then, letting Nelson think about it.

Nelson let Hickock's words run through his head. He could not argue with the logic of what the man had said. He also knew that Hickock knew what he was talking about. That was part of the reason that he did not trust the man. Hickock had been one of the men that Nelson feared might get a hold of the information. The fact that he now seemed to have made a complete turnaround was something Nelson was having a hard time believing. Of course, in the last few months he had seen a Hickock that he had not known existed, or at least hadn't cared to find out about.

He had seen the man that Lee valued beyond simple obedience to a commanding officer. Lee gave his loyalty sparingly, and his friendship even more so, but he had given both to Hickock. Nelson had always wondered why, and still felt that Hickock had a lot to answer for where the young captain was concerned, but he had found that he could tolerate Hickock for Lee's sake. Now, the man was offering a viable option on dealing with Houseman, and all it required was his trust and some money. One he didn't care about, but be wasn't sure he could do the other. But he knew someone who might.

He turned to Sharkey. "Francis. Take this man to the brig." He said indicating Houseman. "Keep him there incommunicado. Only you, Kowalski or Jamieson, or Mr. Morton are to have any contact with him. You will not speak of him to anyone. Is that clear?" He said to the chief. Sharkey nodded and motioned to Kowalski.

"You go ahead, Ski. Make sure the corridor is clear. I'll escort Mr. X here." He ordered. Kowalski nodded in understanding and headed out the hatch. Sharkey followed behind with the unresisting Houseman. Nelson was beginning to think the man had had some sort of psychic breakdown; he hadn't spoken since they were in the small boat and had only moved when prodded. He would have to ask Jamieson after he was done with Lee. While Nelson could regret the loss of a brilliant scientific mind, he could not but think that it would make everything easier, should he decide to take the chance on Hickock's plan. He glanced at his watch. It was still over forty minutes before Jamieson's deadline. He looked down at himself. He could very definitely use a shower and change of clothes. He looked over at Hickock.

"I want to talk to Lee. He's involved in this as much as I am." He said. Hickock nodded.

"I understand." He said and started for the hatch. He looked back as he was about to exit. "What happened to Pritchard, Harry?" He asked.

Nelson shook his head. "I don't know. We fought and we went over the cliff above the bay. When I surfaced I didn't see him. I…don't think he survived the fall."

Hickock turned back to face Nelson. "Accidents happen, Harry. You didn't intend to kill him….." He stopped at the look on Nelson's face. "Did you?" he asked incredulously. It was not a thought Hickock had entertained.

"I intentionally took us both over the edge. I was counting on the water to break the fall, but water is very hard. If you hit it the wrong way from a certain height, then…. I was prepared, he wasn't." Nelson finished. Hickock could see the guilt darkening Nelson's eyes. He was not quite sure how to comfort the man, especially since he didn't particularly see the problem. Pritchard had made his bed. Hickock might have gained new insight on the ends justifying the means after his retirement, but he still believed in an eye for an eye. He had a sudden thought.

"I'm sorry for you, Harry, if not for him. I know what it means to you. But I think you might want to consider what probably would have happened if you hadn't done what you did. What it might have cost you personally, if you did manage to survive." Nelson looked at him in puzzlement.

"If you mean that they were threatening to use something that could have ended civilization as we know it, I've thought of that, but that doesn't justify it. There are always other options. Just the fact that the Seaview had already brought down the Tantalus and that you knew where we were means that there was another option if I had just waited, even if it meant being recaptured. Lee would have still destroyed the facility and the threat would have been neutralized." Hickock was shaking his head.

"You're missing my point." He said and stepped back to stand face to face with Nelson. "What would you say that you value most in this world, Harry?" He asked. Before Nelson could answer, he continued. "Your institute, this boat, your money, your patents? Or maybe it's something less tangible, like your integrity, your compassion, and your honor. What would you say is the one thing that you would do anything, even kill if it was unavoidable, to protect?" Nelson stared at him for a long moment, and then spoke in a voice so low that even Hickock almost didn't hear him. But then he knew the answer and didn't really have to hear the one word that Nelson whispered.

"Lee."

"THAT'S what I mean, Harry." Hickock said softly. "If you hadn't done what you did, you wouldn't have been out there on that boat and we wouldn't have picked you up. We wouldn't have known that Lee was supposed to be at the facility, wouldn't have gone looking for him. We would have landed in the South bay, scoped out the security I saw and tried to land somewhere else. That would have taken time. Then we would have made an assault of sorts on the house. More time spent. Finally, if you had managed to survive the process of being recaptured, and I'm not sure that Pritchard's ego would have allowed that after he found out what Lee was up to, we would have rescued you and started looking for Lee. We wouldn't have seen the people getting off the DSV, wouldn't have known that he hadn't made it off using it. We might have searched the island first then looked to the sea. You might have thought about the current, but not as fast as you did." Hickock put a hand on Nelson's shoulder.

"He might not have made it, Harry. He was cold, tired and beat up. His vest was keeping him up when we got there, but how long would that have been enough? The further that current took him the more area there was to search. You know how hard it is to locate a man in the water. Sometimes even with a location beacon it can be dicey. The way I figure it, you made the only choice." He left it there, knowing he had given Nelson something to think about besides his guilt. He went out through the hatch, looking at his watch. He wondered how much he could shave off that hour without bringing down the doctor's wrath. Everyone on board from Harry down seemed to be scared of the man. He hadn't gotten to where he was by ignoring that kind of thing. Well, it wasn't too much longer before the time was up.

Chapter 26

Harriman Nelson stepped into the sickbay at precisely one hour from the time that Jamieson had given his warning. The lights were lowered, leaving only the pool of light from Jamieson's office to light the room. Nelson could see that Crane was in one of the lower bunks, near the door, broken arm propped on a pillow. There were none of the usual monitoring machines at the bedside that Nelson had become used to when the young man was in sickbay, which happened all too often.

Only one machine that Nelson recognized as an oxygen level sensor was glowing softly at the bedside. He could see that the level was lower than the optimal high nineties, but it was not so low that it was cause for concern. There was also one IV set up. He stepped to the side of the bunk and looked at the sleeping man. Crane always looked younger when he slept, almost boyish. The intensity that was so much a part of his character was missing. Even the faint beard that shadowed the pale cheeks did not add sufficient years for what the young man had done in his life, for what he had endured. Nelson reached out and swept a dark curl off the pale forehead. He left his hand there for a moment, glad to feel the warmth returned to it. He tried not to think of the form that had lain in Kowalski's arms, so cold, pale and still. He didn't want to think about what might have happened if Lee had remained in the water much longer.

What he had told Hickock was true. There was nothing he valued more than Lee's life. If he had been faced with making a choice between the two men there would have been no hesitation. He might have questioned the validity of being forced to choose, would have looked for another option. But in the end, if it came down to it, he would have chosen Crane without thought. He would sacrifice his life in an instant. Could he really hold a clear conscience dearer? No.

He caught sight of movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Jamieson in the doorway to his office. He slid his hand down to cup Lee's cheek briefly then started toward the doctor. As he did the outer door opened and Hickock came in with Morton on his heels. Jamieson leaned on the doorjamb and looked them over, shaking his head. He jerked his head toward his office and went back inside, leaving the three men to follow. Nelson smiled at the others and went in knowing that each would want to see Crane before they came in. After several minutes Hickock came in and sat down next to Nelson, and several minutes later so did Morton.

Jamieson waited patiently until all three were settled and then leaned forward over the desk. "Captain Crane is suffering from extreme exhaustion, minor hypothermia, lack of food, a broken radius, some bruised ribs, assorted bumps and bruises that would barely appear on his radar but would make the average person pretty miserable and, strangest of all, an extraordinarily high level of CO2 in his bloodstream."

"CO2?" Morton questioned, "Maybe there was something wrong with the emergency breather he had."

Jamieson shook his head. "Not unless he was using one for an extended period of time. The concentration that he had in his bloodstream when I took the first sample indicates he was exposed for an extended period of time. It's equalizing slowly now. I had him on oxygen for a while, but you know how he hates it and he kept pulling it off when I turned my back. Short of stationing one of my corpsmen there at all times, I decided to let it equalize naturally while he slept and monitor his oxygen levels. We came to an agreement about the finger clip."

"He was awake then?" Nelson asked eagerly.

"Yes, briefly, mostly to complain about the 'poking and prodding' and to ask about you. I was at least able to determine that there was no concussion to speak of before he went back to sleep."

"How long this time, Jaime?" Morton asked, with a small smile, knowing that the doctor would understand the question.

"I'll be surprised if he isn't agitating to get out of here as soon as he wakes up." Jamieson said. "I'm feeding him intravenously but I want to see him eat some solid food. He'll need more sleep than he'll get here, and with that broken arm he'll be on light duty for at least a couple of days. Don't tell him, but I'll release him to his cabin tonight."

"Too late." Came a voice from the doorway. Jamieson looked that way and swore, coming to his feet. Crane stood there, leaning on the rolling IV stand, wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms. The other three men could see the bruising on his torso. His broken arm, cradled against his stomach, was in a dark blue fiberglass cast. There was some color in his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes as he looked at Jamieson. Those eyes swept to Nelson.

"Good to see you, Sir. I expect you would like a report." He said.

"You can do that later." Jamison decreed, coming around the desk at full speed to latch on to Crane's good arm. "For right now what you need is sleep." Crane's dark head was shaking before the doctor even finished and he shook off the insistent hand that tried to guide him back to the bunk.

"No. I'll do it now. This is important, Jaime." He said. Jamieson was about to protest when Nelson stood and came to face Crane.

"It's over, Lee. Pritchard is…. neutralized and we saw what happened to the control facility. Houseman is here, in the brig." He glanced at Hickock, "There may be a plan to deal with him that we'll discuss after you sleep. For the rest it'll just be a matter of rounding up Ortiz and Lucinda Pritchard now, along with their hired help. We know she's on the island, she was seen, and we're monitoring any traffic. They can't get away. Do what Jaime says for once."

Crane's eyes met his, and seemed to see the disquiet in his soul. "Neutralized." He echoed, not really making it a question, and somehow Nelson knew that he understood the euphemism for what it was. The golden eyes had shadows of their own suddenly. "You won't find Ortiz on the island." Was all he said though and with that turned and went back into the sickbay. Jamieson exchanged looks with Nelson and went after him. Nelson watched from the doorway as Jamieson positioned the oxygen sensor and repositioned the pillow under the broken arm. After checking the IV the doctor returned to his office. One glance around had Morton getting to his feet.

"I uh….need to get some sleep so I can take at least part of A shift. You'll let me know if there's anything?" He asked as he sidled toward the door to the corridor. He saw the amusement in Hickock's eyes and the understanding in Nelson's. Jamieson nodded and the XO made his escape. Jamieson turned his eyes to the two admirals still in his office. Nelson shifted from one foot to the other then started toward the door.

"Come on, Ned. I need to get some sleep and you probably have some calls to make or want to take a nap yourself." He said. Hickock rose to his feet and looked from Nelson to Jamieson with a puzzled look.

"I'd rather stay here with Lee. I won't be in the way. That way he won't wake up alone. I don't need to make those calls until a decision is made anyway and I'm not tired." He said reasonably. He had faced down sitting presidents; he was not going to let a mere doctor back him down from his goal. He saw Nelson shaking his head. Jamieson was simply staring at Nelson, who backtracked and grabbed Hickock's arm and started dragging him toward the door.

"A decision HAS been made. Make your calls. We'll get on the way to Athens. We should be there by noon. Have your people meet us there." Nelson said, determinedly dragging the smaller man out the door into the corridor. Jamieson closed the door behind them with a slight bang. Hickock dug in his heels and pulled Nelson to a stop.

"Damn it, Harry." He growled, jerking his arm free. "Who owns this tub, you or that doctor of yours?" Nelson shot him a smile and Hickock was glad to see that it reached his eyes. Whatever had passed between Nelson and Crane in that one long look seemed to have given some balm to Nelson's wounded soul. It had also put a determined light in his blue eyes.

"I may have the pink slip on her, but when it comes to medical matters that man has the last word. I might be inclined to dispute that more often than not, but he's the best doctor I've ever known and he knows what is best for Lee right now, and that's what is important. In any event, he'll let us back in later when he thinks we've ALL gotten enough rest." Nelson said knowingly

Hickock shook his head with a shrug and followed Nelson forward. Far be it for him to mess with something that seemed to work so well. They had entered the control room when something else struck him. "You said a decision had been made? I take that it's a go then? Wasn't much of a discussion."

Nelson spoke quickly with Lt. Billings who had the con for C shift, O'Brien having passed off the duty soon after the FS1 had returned so that he would be available to take A shift if necessary. After that he went back and spoke with the man on duty in the radio shack. When he was done he motioned Hickock to follow him to the nose. Both were surprised to find Jules Pearson sitting at the table sipping a cup of coffee. He grinned at them both.

"Well, are we through with all the drama? I gotta tell you I'm not cut out for this stuff. Give me an IRS agent with a grudge any day." He said. Nelson and Hickock both grinned back at him.

"Landlubber." Hickock kidded. The very idea of a tax audit chilled his blood. Give him underwater dogfights any day. He had dealt with too many congressional fact finding missions; submarine warfare was less bloody.

"We've just about wrapped it up, Jules. Ned says that it was your information that helped to find us. I can't thank you enough." Nelson said seriously.

"It's over then?" Pearson asked.

"Yes. It's over." Nelson said, sitting down at the table. He didn't elaborate. "You can stand down now." He added wearily. Pearson looked from him to Hickock who was pouring himself a cup of coffee behind Nelson. Hickock shook his head at Pearson, who took that to mean that he should not inquire further at this time. He grunted and stood up stretching.

"If that means I can finally get some sleep without being thrown out of my bed, then I bid you both good morning and good night." Without waiting he disappeared up the spiral stairs. He hoped he would get the full story later, but for now it was good to know that this was over. As exciting as it had all been, from feats of financial daring-do to submarine fights, he was ready to go back to his office and get back to normal. He had a new appreciation for what he was working for now though and that would not go away, not for a very long time. It made him feel quite good about his lot in life. He yawned, that bed was going to feel very good.

Back in the nose Nelson turned a knowing eye on Hickock who shrugged and looked innocent, taking a seat across the table. Nelson harrumphed and rubbed a hand over his face. It had been a long day. Hell, it had been a long week, month and year. But it was over now or at least almost over. There was one more thing to take care of then it would be done.

"Call your people. I told the radioman to give you whatever access you needed. Let him know who you want to call and he'll put you through." He said to Hickock.

"You changed your mind kinda quick. I thought you wanted to talk to Lee first. You two haven't developed telepathy have you?" Hickock asked lightly. He was satisfied to know that Nelson had agreed to his plan, but he wanted to know WHY. It was a character fault that had gotten him into quite a bit of trouble over the years.

"You heard what Lee said. Ortiz must have been at the facility, must have died there, either as a result of the explosion or in a more direct manner. I know Lee well enough to know that it is something that would bother him, even with it being Ortiz."

"Apple doesn't fall far from the tree does it, Harry?" Hickock observed. Nelson scowled at him, more for the interruption then from the observation. Secretly he was always deeply satisfied when he saw something of himself in Lee. It seemed to add validity to their relationship, a kinship that was beyond blood.

"Anyway," He continued, "I want this all over and I don't want it coming back to haunt us. That means that Houseman has to be out of reach of those that might exploit his research. He needs help; help that he will not get from those agencies you spoke of. That being said, you are the only one I know that has the connections necessary to make him disappear. I am prepared….though I have to say reluctantly, to trust you."

"Gee, Harry. With that sterling recommendation I should run for office or something." Hickock muttered.

"Even you wouldn't stoop to politics, Ned. You're not completely gone to the 'dark side'." Nelson deadpanned. When Hickock laughed he joined him for a moment, feeling the last of the tension leaving him. He grew serious. "Do I want to know any details?"

Hickock shook his head. "'Plausible deniability', Harry, those are the watch words of the process. The less you know the better, that way you make your report to Washington with complete veracity and it can't come back to bite you in the butt later. Call it my gift to you and Lee. You go and get that nap you talked about and it will all be done before you wake up. You might want to tell the chief that I have permission to remove a certain supercargo from the boat before you go."

Nelson nodded. It was the best solution. He rose to his feet and started toward the spiral stairs. He really was tired. "I'll pass the word to Sharkey. And by the way, I…uh wouldn't attempt to go back to sickbay for at least a few hours if I were you. Jamieson's bite is far worse than his bark and he is in no way intimidated by rank." He could see by Hickock's scowl that he had scored a hit, and went up the stairs smiling. It was going to be good to get back to normal.

Chapter 27

Crane scratched at the back of his hand near the knuckles, which were the only thing exposed below the cast on his left arm. It really didn't itch there, but he couldn't get to the part of his arm that DID itch so he was hoping that he could maybe misdirect the nerves. It didn't seem to be working any better now than it had earlier. The cast had been on for a week and would be on for at least another five weeks according to Jamieson. He was not looking forward to it. He started to reach for a pencil that was lying nearby, only to have it snatched from under his hand by Chip Morton who was on the other side of the chart table. The XO held up the pencil and shook his head solemnly.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." He intoned. "Aren't you the one that wouldn't even allow me to use a magic marker the entire time that I had a cast on my arm last year? What's good for the goose, etc." Crane frowned at him, then moved a paper aside and picked up the second pencil that was there. He used it to sign off on the page he had been reading and then put it carefully down next to the clipboard. He looked back at Morton.

"SOME of us have enough discipline not to stuff anything that will fit down our casts." He observed. He had of course been going to do exactly what Chip accused him of, but he wasn't going to admit it. He saw the mock scowl on Morton's face and gave him an innocent smile.

He had been back on full duty for the last five days. For once Jamieson had been reasonable. Of course that meant that for the first two days the doctor had expected him to be either sleeping or eating, and nothing else. Actually he wasn't really able to do much beyond that in any event, though he would have never admitted it. He was so very tired. His appetite had also come back with a vengeance, reminding him that food had not been on his agenda for the last several days. Jamieson had asked him at one point why he hadn't snuck into the kitchen and gotten some food and Crane had simply looked at him and said there were more important things on this mind. The doctor had left his cabin after that muttering to himself. Crane was glad that the seawater had destroyed the remaining pills. If Jamieson had ever found out that he had been taking the pills he would have flipped his lid.

The Seaview had docked in Athens and the powers that be had been notified of the rescue of Nelson and Crane, the destruction of the control facility and the location of Lucinda Pritchard. Washington had been ecstatic, as had the delegates at the UN when the United States ambassador had announced it. Greek police, with the 'help' of American operatives, ostensibly there to enforce certain US warrants on American citizens thought to be on the island, had gone to the island in force, rounding up a variety of Greek nationals wanted on various charges, technicians from a number of nations who were on Greek soil without the benefit of visas and passports and numerous servants who claimed not to know what was going on. Lucinda Pritchard was not there and neither was the small submersible.

The DSV was located two days later when the pilot tried to pawn it at a marina in Yanos, a small Greek fishing village. He claimed that Lucinda Pritchard had given him the craft for services rendered when he had taken her to the next island to the north. He didn't know where she had gone from there. There was some evidence of a plane landing and taking off, but where it had gone from there was unknown. Mrs. Jason Pritchard III and her entourage had been apprehended on the yacht at the Straits of Gibraltar. She had claimed complete ignorance of her husband's business and those interviewing her had come to believe her claim. She had been unmoved by reports of her husband's evident demise, but had been crushed to find that all of his assets, including the yacht, island and all personal bank accounts, had been seized.

The crew of the Tantalus had been removed from the crippled submarine. The former captain, Williams, had been arrested as soon as he was brought aboard the American support ship that had brought the rescue craft. He had claimed that the Seaview had attacked them first and that he had only acted in self-defense. The presence of the weapon onboard the supposed research and mining vessel he had claimed was there only for defense, since the boat was occasionally used to carry ores and precious gemstones. They were often in dangerous waters and didn't want to take any chances.

He had been less able to explain the nationalities of his crew. It seemed most had no passports and were claiming political asylum. Many were claiming they were forced to crew the boat by their government and could not return home without suffering reprisals for the failure of the mission. The officers had been less forthcoming and had simply demanded a representative from their consulate. The Greek government was pondering what exactly they were going to do about them

There was some consternation at COMSUBLANT and in The Secretary of the Navy's office, that the weapon had been partially destroyed when she had been disabled. Nelson had been apologetic, but had pointed out that it certainly hadn't been the intent of his officers. All they had been trying to do was survive. In the face of this logic they had backed off. The wreckage had been 'seized' as part of Pritchard's estate. Its whereabouts was a matter of some speculation among the countries that had been involved in the rescue of her crew.

Pritchard and Ortiz had been declared dead.

Once Jamieson had released Crane to duty Nelson had organized a meeting in the nose with Hickock, Morton and Pearson. There, both Crane and Nelson had made their reports, though both left out certain parts. Morton filled them in on the fight with the Tantalus. Both Crane and Nelson commended Morton's actions with the Tantalus and Morton had gently kidded Crane about being an 'object of desire'. Crane replied with a mention about the paint job and a certain XO's next paycheck. Despite the levity, it was easy for the others to see that both senior officers were still conflicted about the deaths that had resulted from their actions.

Crane and Nelson had given their reports via videophone to the president and his advisors. There had been some pointed questions regarding the whereabouts of Dr Houseman, but neither Crane nor Nelson could offer any information on his location. Technically neither had lied, but both were gratified that no one had asked some particular questions about when they had last seen the good doctor. APB's had been sent out throughout Europe, but so far no sightings had been reported. The latest school of thought was that he had been in the control facility, perhaps as a prisoner, and had not been evacuated. A close inspection of the facility by certain factions had shown that the remaining structure was too unstable for divers and the twisted and collapsed corridors did not offer enough room for even small remotely operated cameras to be effective past a certain point. The current opinion was that since Houseman did not have the know how to cover his tracks so efficiently, then he must be dead, a victim of either the explosion or a house cleaning by Pritchard who had disposed of the body.

The Seaview had left Athens the day that Crane had returned to duty. They had traversed the Suez Canal and had headed east toward California and home. Nelson had been kept busy the first day speaking with the scientists affiliated with several different agencies requesting further information on Houseman's research. When he had been vague in his replies he had found himself speaking with the directors of those agencies and fielding more demanding questions. So far he had simply claimed that he had not been given access to all of Houseman's work, only that necessary to verify the ability to duplicate the original effect. He pointed out that his captors would certainly not allow him to see what particular satellites were involved or any frequencies or passwords for contacting the generators, that would have been stupid and …arrogant. At that point he had received a personal summons from the White House requesting his presence. He had taken Hickock, Pearson and Sharkey with him in the FS1. He had dropped Pearson in Santa Barbara on the way. Calls from him had been circumspect; as if he suspected monitoring, but it was obvious he was presenting the facts as they had decided.

Before they had left Hickock had come to Crane's cabin and had shared with him the plans he had made for Houseman. He felt that someone beside himself needed to know what had been done. He was an old man, he pointed out with a twinkle in his eye, and there was no telling how long he would be around. Should there ever be a reason for Crane or Nelson to find Houseman, he wanted someone to know where to find him. Crane had laughed at the twinkle, suspecting that the old man would outlive them all out of sheer cussedness, if not simply because it would irritate his enemies. He appreciated the admiral's trust, and wondered how he had been so lucky to find two such men in one lifetime. Hickock and Nelson were very much alike though they could never see it themselves. Good men. Men that Crane felt honored to know. They had bid a fond goodbye to each other and he had been ordered to stop in the next time he was in Washington, DC.

The cruise toward home had so far been uneventful, a soothing return to normalcy. At least it should have been. However, Crane had found himself unable to settle down. The daily routine was the same but he was not. He was….unsettled. No amount of prowling his boat could sooth his nerves. He had involved himself in the continuing repairs being done; pushing himself to the point that Jamieson had started giving him the evil eye until he had gotten more circumspect. And the dreams….He returned each night to the dome, reliving every moment, feeling the cold of the atmosphere as the CO2 built, the inability to draw a deep breath, the last battle with Ortiz. Again and again he saw Ortiz going down the stairs to his death, too confused by the gas to understand he was dooming himself. He would wake in a cold sweat and spend the rest of the night working on reports. He had not mentioned that to anyone, but he suspected Chip knew.

Morton had cornered Crane during off duty hours the night before and had asked him straight out about what had occurred in the facility with Ortiz. The young captain had first tried to avoid the question, but Morton had persisted. After a short argument regarding the proper deference due the captain of the boat, Crane had given in. Chip had listened with no interruption and had made no attempt to offer clichéd justifications, for which Crane had been infinitely grateful. It was hard to say if he felt any better after talking about it but, as always, he was grateful for Morton's persistence and caring. Crane had sent Morton off to bed with a promise not to brood on it. Morton had left with a snort of disbelief, but had at last left him alone with his thoughts. He had slept surprisingly well that night, without dreams.

Now, the next day, Crane thought that perhaps it _had_ helped to speak of it. He still regretted that Ortiz had not lived to face his victims in a court of law, but he had to believe that a sort of cosmic justice had been satisfied. He met Morton's eyes and saw the probing look that his friend sent his way. Evidently whatever Chip saw in his eyes satisfied him because he smiled.

"SOME people can lie believably too, but that has nothing to do with the matter at hand." He said knowingly. He jerked his head toward the radio shack. "The admiral just called. He'll be meeting us in Santa Barbara. He's just getting ready to leave D.C. now; should be in around 0100."

Crane nodded. It would be good to have Nelson back. They had not been able to speak to each other for any length of time since returning from Pritchard's island. There had been too many interruptions to have the kind of conversation that it seemed they both wanted to have. Not that Crane had wanted to discuss much. Now it looked as if they would have an opportunity soon and he found himself wanting to talk. He wondered it Nelson would feel the same.

The Seaview docked in Santa Barbara at 2000 hours and Crane and Morton went about the familiar tasks of releasing the crew and finishing the required paperwork. Long practice had them finished at 2230 and they walked together toward the parking area. It seemed like it had been years since they had been here getting ready for what was supposed to be a short term, routine cruise. Chip suggested a beer or two at a local bar they favored, but Crane declined. When Morton assumed that he was tired he did not disagree. He was, but that wasn't the reason he wanted to go home.

He just wanted to go home and be alone. The one thing that was sadly lacking on any submarine, even on one the size of his beloved gray lady, was privacy. He had had no opportunity to simply be alone and think about what had happened. In fact it seemed that the last year had been like that, one thing after another with Pritchard. If it hadn't been for the fact that lives had been lost, even counting who they had been, he would be happy to see the end of it. So many had paid too high of a price for Pritchard's wounded pride so many years ago. It had started with Nelson and had grown out from there.

He arrived home and put away his things. He changed from his uniform to jeans and a t-shirt that was one of the only styles that would allow him to pull it over his cast without splitting the sleeve as he had on several uniform shirts. He went into the kitchen and looked into the nearly empty refrigerator though he wasn't hungry. He took a beer and went to sit on his sofa where he looked idly through the mail that had been brought in by his neighbor. Finally finding even the openness of his living room too confining he wondered out onto first the deck and then down to the beach drawn, as always when troubled, to the water.

It was now after midnight. The beach was deserted, and the wind was cold off the water. He had found an old jacket and with a little impromptu tailoring had pulled it on over the t-shirt. His jeans gave him sufficient protection and he hadn't bothered with shoes when he had changed. He walked for a while; just letting the sounds of surf and wind calm him. Once he had returned to the beach near his house he sat down in the dry sand above the water line and stared out over the water. He wasn't seeing the surf or the stars and moon.

In his mind he saw the people who had paid for Pritchard's vendetta. The first had been the man that had tried to destroy the Tantalus and Pritchard along with it. Crane had become unknowingly involved in the act of revenge, as had the men who had delivered the boat. When they had all been rescued and it was obvious that the authorities would soon be on his trail the man had committed suicide to avoid prosecution and the shame it would bring his family. He had been the first to die.

The next had been the drunk in Costa Nuestra. Crane had never even known his name. In the course of an attempt to bring pain to Nelson, Ortiz had executed the unknown man in Crane's place, there being a slight physical resemblance at a distance on a grainy video. Others had died at the rebel camp when Ortiz had attempted to regain the escaped Crane. He had at least been able to do something for the families of those people, working through Abuela, the old woman who had tended his own wounds in the camp.

The next to fall had been the two assistants that worked with Greg Summers. They had been part of the plot to use the Seaview to set up the mining of Uranium rich mineral deposits off a group of poor islands. Nelson's inclusion on the sampling trip had been potentially damaging to their plan and they had tried to kill him, simulating an electrical accident. The assistants had injected him with an experimental drug that had kept him unconscious until the DSV had returned to the Seaview. When Crane had attempted to track down the assistants after the fact to ask them questions, he had found that they were both dead, supposedly in separate accidents.

The next victim had been another man that worked for Pritchard. He had been Pritchard's contact in Washington DC. Crane had followed him to his house and had been present when he was killed by a sniper's bullet. Crane had managed to get some information before he was shot and it had helped him take the next step in his search for information that would help him end the threat to Nelson. He had understood that the man had a family, a wife and children. What had happened to them he did not know. He had not been able to do anything about them before he had left and had not been able to find them when he had returned from his undercover stint on the Tantalus.

Even on the boat, Tantalus, there had been victims, though at least this time no one had died. His actions had cost most of the crew their jobs. They had been, for the most part, good men using the skills they had learned in the Navy to make a living. When Pritchard had found out about Crane's industrial espionage he had rushed to the mining site, one step ahead of the justice department. Crane had made certain suggestions to one of the men about future employment and so far ten men had gone to a certain marina north of Santa Barbara and had been sent on to new jobs. One was a new employee of the Institute, working in the maintenance department now, but on the list for the next opening in the engineering department on board Seaview.

The hapless detective who had blown his cover to Pritchard, trying to play both sides against the middle for personal gain had also died, a victim of his own greed. Crane had never even known his name. He was sure that someone, somewhere must have grieved for him, the pain of the death echoing on.

Then there had been Porter. The hapless first captain of the Tantalus had been a poor excuse for a submarine commander as far as Crane was concerned, but he had not deserved to end up floating in the Hong Kong Harbor, dead from a bullet to the head. Crane had not been surprised to hear that Porter had been discarded in favor of his XO, Williams, but he had not thought that he would be dealt with in such a way. It had seemed to him an overreaction to Porter's inefficiency. The man could not return to the US without being arrested and it would seem that simply firing him and leaving him stranded overseas would have been sufficiently punitive. Crane knew that Porter had made his own bed, as had all of Pritchard's flunkies, but he had not deserved to die in such a way. The captain suspected that Ortiz had been the one to 'take care of' the hapless Porter.

And now they were at the end and the story ended as it had begun, with blood. With the perspective that Chip had helped him find he could now see that there had been few other possible outcomes to the path they had been on. In the end someone would have been dead, Pritchard or Nelson. He could not, would not, complain about the outcome. He would have given anything to protect Nelson. He had other ghosts that he lived with; Ortiz was not one that would haunt him long

He ran his hand idly through the sand, finding a rounded water-smoothed stone hidden beneath. He studied it in the light of the full moon, only able to distinguish the veins of white quartz running through a darker material. He ran his fingers over the smoothness of the stone, enjoying the feeling of the silky surface. The stone had probably started as a rough piece of rock, separated from a bed of minerals, and tumbled down a river. Then from the river to the sea where it had been washed back and forth innumerable times, slowly becoming the rounded, smoothed shape that he now held. It had resisted the smoothing as long as it could, its component parts seeking to maintain their original form, but the sea had worn it down. He felt much like the rock would if it had feelings, he thought. As the stone had passed its trial in the natural tumbler of the ocean, so had he passed the last year, tumbling sometimes out of control, moved by forces outside himself, seeking to remain as he had begun and finally coming to rest here, changed.

He wondered if he too had become smoothed, the rough edges gone, and exactly what his new form meant. Was he a better man for having survived the process where others hadn't, as the rock had survived when other rocks had become sand? He wasn't sure that it was any better one way or the other. He was glad enough to be alive. As much as he regretted the last deaths, he could not wish to trade his own life for theirs. He didn't notice anything new about himself, but then maybe the changes had been so subtle and slow that he wouldn't have.

He had to wonder if this new Crane would be the same as the old. Having been the chosen executioner for Ortiz and having acted to withhold information from his government, directly lying to his Commander in Chief, what would he do if such situations arose again? Would he be less likely to hesitate when it came down to a choice of killing or not killing? Would he now become the arbiter of what was and wasn't important information to be passed on to his superiors? Would he now find it easier to lie to his friends and family, to Nelson and Chip, about what he might be doing for ONI? Would he be less picky about what he did in the course of his duties for the intelligence department? God, he hoped not. He desperately did not want to become like Pritchard, like Ortiz, like the men that had worked for them.

He didn't know how long he had sat there, staring out over the water, absently rubbing the stone between his fingers before he realized that he was no longer alone. He turned his head sharply and found himself being studied at close range by Harriman Nelson. The older man was seated in the sand at his side. The moonlight revealed a small smile.

He was wearing a jacket that Crane recognized as his own, a tight fit on the huskier Nelson. The older man had also rolled up his dark pants and removed his shoes.

"I'm not sure if I really want to ask about the thoughts that have you sitting like a statue on a cold, windswept beach at 0200." He said. "I suspect that I already know what they are anyways. I've had them myself."

Crane smiled at him. "I didn't have to travel across the country to sit on this beach, seems to me that you're worse off than I am." He joked. He glanced at his watch. It was indeed just after 0200. He hadn't realized how long he had sat there. He looked back at Nelson. "I wasn't expecting to see you until tomorrow. Was there some kind of problem in Washington?"

Nelson shook his head and looked out at the ocean. "No, no problem. I fully intended to dock the FS1 and head home. It has been a long week trying to convince the powers that be that I don't know anything about the ceta wave technology, at least not enough to recreate it or to pinpoint which satellites have the generators. I'm afraid that I may have lost some credibility with some of my fellow scientists who do not see how I could have failed to take the opportunity to learn what I could from Houseman." He went silent.

"But you came here instead." Crane observed.

"Yes. I did." Nelson said. There was something in his voice that said he was as puzzled about it as Crane was. They sat there silently for several moments, both lost in their own thoughts. Finally Nelson looked over at Crane and jerked his head toward the house. "Would it be too much to ask that we repair to the house for a hot toddy of some sort? I have to admit that after being in the Mediterranean, even for so short a time, I am finding the cold a bit hard to tolerate."

With a nod Crane rose to his feet and brushed himself off. He dropped the stone in his pocket without thinking about it. Nelson rose more slowly and they walked silently toward the dark house. They went in and Crane motioned for Nelson to have a seat on the sofa. He went and quickly laid a fire, carefully starting with the kindling and adding larger logs as it caught. Soon he had a fine blaze going and went into the kitchen where he brewed some coffee and put a healthy dollop of Irish whiskey in one of the cups. Going back into the living room he offered the spirited brew to Nelson, who took it and sipped. He smiled, nodded and leaned back on the sofa, sighing as Crane sat in a chair across from him. As Crane sat he felt the rock in his back pocket and took it out. He kept it in his hand, feeling the cold smoothness warming as he rubbed it. It was becoming strangely comforting.

"That hits the spot. I'm afraid I wasn't offered very much 'hospitality' in Washington. I was getting rather dry. I had to send Sharkey out on a booze run after the second night when the bottles in the minibar ran out." He sighed again, taking a deeper drink of the coffee and whiskey. "I have to tell you, Lee. I find this whole thing incredibly distasteful. It's not that I haven't withheld information before, about my own inventions, knowing what could and possibly would, be done with them if I allowed it. But somehow, this is not like that.

"I know, KNOW, that if we allowed this information to be disseminated that it would be used eventually to the detriment of humanity, either specifically or as a whole. As it stands there is NOTHING that it can be used for BUT destruction. But in doing this I am possibly destroying an entire thought process, the lifetime work of a scientist like myself. Never mind that he's a madman now. He wasn't always and his work was brilliant from a purely scientific standpoint. Now that work will be lost, possibly forever. There may never be anyone that can duplicate his work. They haven't been able to find his research journals anywhere. They are assuming they were in the facility. What if at some time in the future they find something that could benefit mankind that depends on ceta waves, and the technology is lost? I think, as bad as I have felt about Pritchard, I feel worse about the fact that I am killing an idea.

"Not that I haven't thought about Pritchard over the last week." He added. "Perhaps too often. You know my feelings about taking life, even the life of someone threatening my own. I would have wished for another solution, ANY other solution that did not result in OUR deaths instead of his…..and Ortiz's," He said the last with a look at Crane. "But going over what happened, I can't say that I have found anything else that we could have done. I cannot find it in myself to grieve for them, even as I grieve for Houseman and his research. I took Pritchard's life unintentionally, but look what I am doing _intentionally_ to Houseman. I have taken his work, his freedom, his very identity from him. It is infinitely worse in a way."

"YOU could duplicate it." Crane said as Nelson stopped speaking. "Houseman's work. I know that you understood it, that you saw all of his notes. Maybe you could write it down somewhere. It doesn't have to be lost."

Nelson sighed with a sad smile. "You give me too much credit, lad. I saw it and yes, I understood what I read, but to recreate it…" He shook his head. "Not completely and that would be even more dangerous than the complete process. No, I'm afraid it is gone. I will have to live with it, as I am sure that you will live with those things that had you out on the beach at this hour." He took another drink then sat the cup on the coffee table and rose to his feet. He began pacing back and forth in front of the fire.

"Your involvement in this whole thing is something else I regret deeply, by the way. Not just this last mess, though this has been the icing on the cake. In the past your association with me has caused you to be put in danger, mortal danger more often then not, and you have accepted it, even thrived on it. You have always passed it off as part of your duty, your responsibility as captain of the Seaview or as an officer in the Navy, but this thing with Pritchard has been, for lack of a better term, personal. In the course of this year you have been kidnapped, wounded, and have left behind all you hold dear to help not the boat, not the crew, not the nation, but me personally. You don't seem to begrudge it or resent it, though you have more than enough cause and I would give anything if it hadn't happened, that the things that have kept you from the rest that I am sure you need, and that you deserve, hadn't happened. I want you to know that if….if you feel that it has been too much, that the cost is too high….." He couldn't finish, and he didn't look at Crane as he spoke, staring instead into the fire.

Somewhere in the back of his mind was the fear that this final blow would be the one that drove Crane away, maybe not physically but emotionally. He didn't doubt that the young captain would honor his contractual obligation to be the captain of the submarine for several more years if Nelson insisted, but his presence had ceased to be merely getting the best man for the job quite some time ago. Nelson had known for years that physical danger was nothing to the younger man, had counted on it in some cases. In fact, as he had said the captain did indeed seem to thrive in the atmosphere of danger and intrigue that had become his life since joining Seaview.

As much as Nelson had asked of him, he had answered. But there had to be a point at which it became too much and the older man could see how the events of the last few days could be the final straw. Crane had been physically, emotionally and even morally abused by their captors, and had been forced to watch a man die as the result of his actions in the course of destroying the facility. Nelson knew that it weighed on the younger man much as it did on him.

Then, to add to the burden placed on the slim shoulders, Nelson and Hickock had developed the plan to spirit Houseman off to a nameless future in a mental health facility, a plan that had been put into action before Crane had been consulted. It had simply been presented as a fait accompli to the younger man when Jamieson had deemed the young captain well enough for company. Even if he had completely disagreed with it, his honor would not have allowed him to reveal the plan, thus implicating Nelson and Hickock. But in doing what they had done, they were asking him to compromise that very honor by lying to his superior officers, even the President. Seen from the perspective of the younger man, Nelson would understand if that final burden had been asking too much.

Crane looked at Nelson then down at the rock in his hand. Here in the light of the house he could see that what he had thought was dark matrix with the white quartz running through it was in reality almost completely quartz with only a thin veneer of the darker stone remaining over it. The crucible of its passage through the ocean had removed all but the last of the softer rock, leaving the hardest, strongest material. With more time only the quartz would remain, possibly becoming a clear rounded crystal if the quartz matrix was large enough. He found himself recalling the comparison he had made earlier between this rock and his own life. With time he too would be refined to the strongest and best that he could be. His chosen path in life would guarantee that. The process might be unpleasant, painful even, but he could count on the man that stood before his fireplace to guide him through it, to make sure that he became the man that he wanted to be, a man like Nelson. And in traveling that path, he had found rewards, rewards he had never dreamed of: the Seaview, the crew, a renewed friendship and brotherhood with Chip, and Nelson.

When he received no response to his statement after several minutes, Nelson turned and looked at Crane. He found the younger man still seated in the chair, staring at a stone he held in his hand, the long fingers rubbing the smooth surface. He remembered that Crane had been sitting on the beach with a similar stone in his hand when he had found him there earlier. He was used to Crane playing with his academy ring when he was thinking, but this habit was new. He walked over to stand above the obviously thoughtful Crane.

"If I recall correctly Captain Queeg had two ball bearings that he used to reduce stress and focus his thoughts. I'm not sure that the crew is prepared for such a change in their commanding officer." He said with a small smile. Crane gave a start, as if he had been unaware of Nelson's approach. He looked up blankly for a moment, obviously running what Nelson had said back through his mind then he broke out in a grin.

"I don't know. A little discipline never hurt anyone and I can get another rock." He joked back. They shared the smile for a moment then Nelson went to sit on the sofa again, leaning forward and putting a hand on Crane's knee.

"I mean it, Lee. If this has been too much, I would understand if you wanted to leave or if you want to stay, and return to a more….business-like relationship….." he stopped as Crane started shaking his head.

"No." He said urgently, his eyes meeting Nelson's. "I don't want to change anything." He held up the rock that he had been rubbing. "It's probably going to sound just about as weird as Queeg and his ball bearings, but I've been thinking about this rock, what it's been through to end up on the beach like it is now and what it might end up like if stays in the sea." At Nelson's puzzled look he continued. "After everything: the rolling around, the abrasion, the sandblasting, almost all of the weakest part of it is gone. It'll be changed, but it will be better than it was, purer, stronger, almost like a gem if the quartz matrix is large enough and I'm just like this rock."

He moved forward in the chair, holding the rock up between himself and Nelson. "Everything that has gone on, all the danger, all the strange stuff that seems to happen to us, to me, it's like the ocean working on this rock. All the weakness is rubbed off and all the stuff that makes me the captain I need to be, the man I want to be, is left behind. You are part of the process of me becoming that man. You've given me opportunity and example. I'm not saying that it has always been easy, or pleasant, but the rewards are worth it."

Nelson, with a feeling of gratitude that Crane did not want to leave, still felt that the young man was giving him too much credit. "Lee..." He started, but was interrupted.

"The fact of it is, Admiral," Crane started, putting the rock down on the coffee table and meeting Nelson's eyes. "In a weird kind of way I almost appreciated Pritchard including me in his campaign against you." He dropped his eyes to the floor and then looked at Nelson through his lashes with a faint blush rising in his cheeks. "It validates my position with you. It means that someone from outside believed that I am an essential part of your life, that what happened to me can cause you pain. That meant it was real. Even though I knew it was, it was….satisfying in a way to have it verified." Crane shook his head. "It's probably pathological. Maybe I'm more like Queeg than I thought. In any event, like I said, it was worth it."

Nelson had not been expecting any such declaration. In fact he now realized that he had come to Lee's house at this early hour because he could not wait any longer to know if what had happened, what he, by his actions years earlier, however well intentioned, had caused to happen, had driven Crane away. He could not help but feel a surge of happiness at the young man's words. But he also felt another pang of guilt. Crane may be willing to pay the price for his position in Nelson's life, but Nelson was not prepared to let the cost be too high if he could help it. He found himself smiling at Crane and shook his head.

"We are a pair, are we not? I was worried that you would want to leave not only because of Pritchard but also because of what Hickock and I had planned without consulting you. We, _I_, asked you to compromise your honor and I was concerned that you complied out of obligation to us both, with no question. That wasn't right. There is a limit to what love can ask Lee; to what love _should_ ask, and we passed it. I have to tell you that I am sorry and if you feel that it was asking too much, I would understand if you feel you must make a clean breast of it to the President."

"You've spent the last week defending that position." Crane said

Nelson shrugged. "Yes. Because I believe that it is what is best, even with the cost that Houseman and possibly future generations, must pay. But what I believe isn't necessarily what you believe. You …" He stopped and shook his head again, "you have given me a gift. A gift of your love, your devotion, and you are a man that any father would be proud of. I will not destroy that relationship by forcing MY will on you by circumstance. It needs to be your choice, Lee. I took it from you last week and now I want to give it back to you, as you have given me your trust and faith. So do what you have to do to live with yourself, Lee."

Crane looked at Nelson and shook his own head. "You're right. We are a pair. I'm waxing poetic about a rock and you're worrying about things that don't matter." He held up a hand when Nelson looked to protest. "No, I mean it. I can't say that I like having to lie and withhold information, but you didn't force me to do it. I have always known that you would never force your beliefs on me or order me to do something that you would not do yourself. You believe this is what is right. I don't understand these ceta waves like you do and so I let myself be guided by your experience. That's part of what you give me."

In the face of this earnest declaration Nelson could not doubt Crane's sincerity. He slumped back against the sofa pillows, the tiredness he had been holding at bay seeping back through him. He looked at the clock on the mantel above the fireplace. It was after 0300. He picked up his coffee cup, lifted it in a toast to Crane, and then tossed off the last of the drink.

"Well, I don't know about you, Lee," he said. "But I am ready to find a bed. Would it be asking too much to use your guest room?" He asked. There would be more to talk about in the coming days. But for now he knew what he needed to know. Lee was, if not at peace with what had happened, at least dealing with it in a healthy manner. And most importantly he was staying.

Crane smiled back at him. "It's yours. There are fresh linens and towels in the bathroom. I think I can use a little sleep myself."

Nelson peeled himself off the sofa and started toward the guest room. He heard Crane moving to take the coffee cups into the kitchen. Before he went down the hall he saw Crane turn out the light in the kitchen and then start back to the coffee table. Nelson assumed he would be turning out the light in the living room and tending the fire, but instead the younger man stooped and picked up the small rock that was on the table. He started toward the doors leading to the deck and the beach. He saw Nelson watching him and smiled. He held up the rock and gestured toward the ocean.

"Only seems fair that it gets to complete its journey too." He said and slipped out the door. Nelson smiled and headed toward the guest room, knowing that Crane would be back in soon and that his sleep would be warmed by the knowledge that he had had some small part in the formation of the man that was Lee Crane.

Chapter 28

A well-shod foot ground out a glowing cigarette on the pavement below the phone box. The handset was slammed back into the cradle and a swear word in a language not usually heard in the street of this small Turkish town echoed in the darkness of the night.

"Surely there is some form of reliable transportation in this God-forsaken place." The same voice said, ignoring the echo off the walls. The expensive shoes tapped on the worn cobbles that made up the road as the wearer headed toward a small old car parked at the curb nearby. The speaker slipped into the car behind the wheel and looked over at the passenger seat.

"This is it. We make it to Ankara in this or not at all, and the plane will only wait so long. I've made arrangements for passports and some money to be waiting."

"Just how much do you have put aside?" the passenger growled.

"Enough, at least for now, call it a rainy day fund. It paid the doctor and bought this hunk of junk. In any event that is something that is completely at MY disposal. I advise you to remember that."

"Oh, don't worry. My memory is very good. I know what I owe and to whom. I won't be forgetting, anything."

With a snort of bitter laughter the driver started the car and put it in gear. In moments the car was gone and the night was silent again.

The End. 


End file.
